


any good days

by shinelikestars



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Genderbending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, evan hansen is a girl y'all that's right, girl! evan, heidi is a Very Good Mom™, i'm officially deh trash watch out world, if you're still reading these tags i applaud u and love u, jared is still kind of a douche but he improves, so don't hate him too much pls, y'all are probably gonna hate me for this i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinelikestars/pseuds/shinelikestars
Summary: for a few short weeks during the summer of '17, evan hansen finds the best thing she's ever had. devastatingly handsome fellow outcast connor murphy is a part of that.but after one messy night full of mistakes and inevitable consequences, connor shuts her out. they grow apart. and evan's left wondering what she did so wrong. why do people always leave her?she can't let connor leave. not like this. not when their lives aren't the only ones that would be affected by their growing apart. so she comes up with a plan: first day of senior year, she's going to find him, and she'll talk to him. they'll work things out, right?but they don't get to talk. not the way evan wanted. and connor does leave, in the most horrible way he could, the most permanent way possible.and evan's left to deal with the aftermath all alone.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I am so so excited to be writing for the Dear Evan Hansen fandom. This musical means a lot to me, and I know it means a lot to anyone who's ever seen it. It is a wonderful, wonderful piece of work and I hold it dear to my heart.
> 
> Normally, I'm all about the gay (as y'all can probably tell from my other works hahaha). BUT, I came up with this crazy idea with a genderbent Evan (yes her name is still Evan, Evan can be used for a girl y'all it's a gender-neutral name just look at the beautiful glorious Evan Rachel Wood) and decided to write this. I'm not gonna tell you why exactly I genderbent Evan for this because I don't want to spoil anything just yet. You'll find out soon though!
> 
> note: chapter one might not make much sense. after i post the next couple of chapters, i promise it will.
> 
> This might not be your cup of tea, and that's ok. Thank you for taking the time to read, whether you like my work or not.
> 
> Comments are appreciated and adored and will always be replied to. Much love to you all. 
> 
> Xo,  
> L

** one. **

_"Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day, and here’s why_ ” — she pauses. “Nope, nope, how can I even be writing this? Today’s not going to be a good day, there aren’t going to be _any_ good days because I’m —”

 

She freezes at the knock on the door — her mom, of course. “Evan?” Heidi Hansen calls out. “Can I come in?” 

 

She slams her laptop shut and wipes away any remaining tears from earlier, then shouts back, “Sure, Mom, I’m just doing homework.” (Which wasn’t really a lie, right? She _had_ been doing homework — in a sense.)

 

The door opens and her mom steps in, smelling like disinfectant and her favorite Lean Cuisine meal — chicken fried rice. Her plain purple scrubs have a mystery stain that Evan prefers not to think about if at all possible, and the messy half-back hairstyle she’s scraped together is definitely a result of third-day hair, but Heidi Hansen is still undeniably beautiful, and Evan’s heart swells with affection for her mother. She still wonders every day why her dad had left them all those years ago — no Embassy Suites cocktail waitress can compare to her mom, right? How can that even be possible? 

 

“Hey, sweetie,” her mom greets, giving her a tired smile as she hovers by the edge of the bed. “Can I sit?”

 

Evan nods her silent permission and watches as her mom perches on the worn plaid comforter she’s had since fourth grade. “I just wanted to remind you that you’ve got an appointment with Dr. Sherman tomorrow,” her mom says. “At 4, alright? That should give you plenty of time to walk home and then catch a bus to City Center. You know I’d drive you, but I had to pick up Jennifer’s shift this week. And don’t forget to use the $20 I keep leaving, you can’t just live off of Hot Pockets every night.”

 

“Okay.” She’s picking at a ragged bit on her fingernail, something she knows she should try to tamp down on since her mom hates to see it, but she can’t help it, not with the situation at hand — 

 

“Evan? You okay, hon?” Her mom looks concerned now, not just exhausted, and guilt stabs at Evan’s insides — she knows she’s the cause of that concern. 

 

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Just excited for the first day of school,” she tells her, plastering on a smile. “I mean, what’s not to be excited about? I have Mrs. Shepherd for English this year, and she’s the only teacher who lets me opt out of presentations, so that’s good, and Mr. Richards quit so I won’t have him for Calculus, which is also good —” 

 

“Okay, Ev,” her mom interrupts, laughing lightly at the stream of words that even Xanax can’t halt.“I believe you, sweetie. Have a good first day. Call me if the bus is late.” She gets up to leave, and Evan’s fingers brush the edges of her laptop, but her mother pauses just as her hand wraps around the doorknob.

 

“You’re still doing those letters to yourself for Dr. Sherman, right?” she asks, turning back to face her daughter. “ _Dear Evan Hansen, today’s going to be a good day and here’s why_ — those ones?” 

 

“ _Yes_ , Mom,” Evan reassures her, praying inside that her mother won’t ask to see the laptop. Hopefully her mother doesn’t notice the way her hands have started to shake. Spotting the doubt written all over her mother’s face, Evan adds, “Look, I’ll finish today’s at school and bring it home for you to read tomorrow, alright?” 

 

Heidi’s features soften, the corners of her lips turning up into a smile, and Evan lets out the breath she didn’t known she’d been holding as her mother blows her a kiss and closes the door behind her.

 

She opens up her laptop again, the light emanating from the screen almost blinding with its brightness, and swallows hard, dread forming in the pit of her stomach at the webpage detailing her harsh reality, the one she’ll eventually have to confront sooner or later.

 

_“TOP 20 SYMPTOMS OF PREGNANCY,”_ the top of the page declares. Evan had been staring at the webpage for an hour before her mom came in, but she doesn’t really need to read the symptoms.

 

They’d only confirm what she already knows.

 

——

The stench of the school bus — some bizarre combination of fried fish, sweat, and old sneakers — has Evan on the verge of puking before she’s even stepped into the school. However, nerves serve as a much easier cover-up when Jared Kleinman sidles up to her in the hallway and asks why her face is so green. 

 

“I should’ve known,” Jared sighs, perma-exasperated as usual as his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “It’s always the anxiety with you, Evan Hansen. You’ve gotta have like an entire country’s worth of Xanax in your medicine cabinet — sucks you’re too scared to try to deal. You could make a _killing_.” He and Evan are an odd pair, his graphic T-shirts and khaki shorts contrasting sharply with her worn jeans and trusty striped V-neck, which should’ve made them both targets in the high school hierarchy, but the one thing they do have in common was a talent for blending in as necessary. Jared disguises his real feelings with the snark expected of a teenage boy, and Evan just never says anything at all (it wasn’t like anyone would listen, anyway). 

 

“I’m not too _scared_ , Jared, I just don’t want to get arrested, okay? Prison is not a nice place to be and I know you can get your GED there but I don’t think they have environmental science classes, and then I couldn’t be a park ranger during the summer and that would really suck — ” Evan sucks in a breath, forcing herself to cease the babbling, and Jared rolls his eyes. That stings, even though after ten years of dealing with Jared’s constant irritation at her anxiety, Evan should be used to it.

 

“Careful, Hansen, you’ve already almost maxed out your word count for the week,” Jared announces. “As your family friend, there’s only so much I should have to put up with for car insurance.” 

 

Evan fiddles with the strap of her backpack, trying to think of what reply she could possibly formulate to that. If Jared weren’t the only person at this school willing to talk to her (well, aside from Alana Beck, but Alana only really cares if Evan plans to challenge her spot as President of the Key Club and five different honor societies, which is a crazy notion to begin with), then maybe she could find the guts to tell him to fuck off, but — well. She’s Evan Hansen, anxiety-riddled mess, and that’s all she’ll ever be. She isn’t the kind of girl who can tell Jared Kleinman and his $200 car insurance payments to fuck off. 

 

“Holy shit,” Jared breathes, making her flinch, “did Connor Murphy forget that hair cuts were a thing? I mean, Jesus, there’s a Hair Cuttery across the street.”

 

Evan goes numb where she stands, mouth instantaneously dry and left arm tingling as Connor Murphy and all that glorious long hair comes into view. He’s still fully committed to an all-black wardrobe, she notes, fond memories flooding her brain. Whatever Jared has to say, Evan’s happy that Connor hasn’t cut those dark brown curls. They’re almost shoulder-length now, and honestly kind of a work of art, even if she’s the only one who can appreciate them.

 

Any trace of fondness dissipates, however, when Connor’s gaze meets hers. Those beautiful blue eyes widen and then narrow into slits, and Evan forces herself to look away, Connor’s walk speeding up as he apparently plans to stalk past the unfortunate duo.

 

“Hey, Connor,” Jared calls out. “Lovin’ the new hair length. Very, uh, school-shooter-chic.”

 

Connor freezes in his tracks, combat boots squeaking against the tiled floors as he turns to stare at Jared. Two months ago, Evan would’ve read the look on his face as hurt, but she doesn’t know if she can do that anymore and still get it right. 

 

No matter what Evan thinks, Jared definitely gets the angry vibe, and given Connor’s infamous temperament and Jared’s blatant hatred of exercise, that isn’t something he wants to deal with. “I was just kidding,” Jared says slowly. “It was a joke.” 

 

“Yeah, no, it was funny. I’m laughing, can’t you tell?” Connor deadpans. Evan gets the distinct impression that she’s watching a train wreck in the making.

 

“Am I not laughing hard enough for you?” Connor snaps, voice growing louder as he steps closer to Jared, previous destination forgotten entirely. 

 

“You’re such a freak,” Jared laughs, pretending to be unfazed because that’s the only way he can even possibly get out of this in one piece. He doesn’t bother to say goodbye to Evan, just strolls off in the direction of the AP Calc class he’s spent all summer whining about.

 

Then it was just the two of them, Connor staring at Evan with a look she truly can’t decipher, and Evan _really_ wishes the bus hadn’t come so early. She lets out a nervous laugh, anxiety taking the reins as her chest goes tight.

 

Something about that sets Connor off. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” he snarls. “Stop fucking laughing at me!”

 

“Connor, I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry, you know I do that when I’m — ” she tries to stammer out. Connor doesn’t let her finish. It’s like he’d never heard her at all.

 

“You think I’m a freak? I’m not the freak! _You’re_ the fucking freak!” 

 

Then he’s gone, Evan curled up against a row of lockers in the fetal position, Connor’s parting words coursing through her head as she pleads with herself to breathe.

 

Connor doesn’t care about her anymore for whatever reason, that much is clear. And he was right — she _is_ the freak.

 

She always has been.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit to the letter and some of the dialogue in this scene goes to the musical! 
> 
> note: the part in the letter where evan writes about pinning all her hope on zoe might not make sense to y'all in this context just yet. don't worry, it'll be explained in the next chapter.
> 
> thank you for all the love and support so far! it is so very appreciated. <3
> 
> xo,  
> L

** two. **

By some grace of God, Evan manages to struggle through the day, forcing herself to power through if only for her mother’s sake (even though the only thing on her mind is the glorious bottle of Xanax waiting for her at home). She’s enough of a burden as it is, and Dr. Sherman’s recent price hike has her mom working on a near-constant basis. Evan doesn’t know how she juggles the shifts at the hospital and her classes so well — she doesn’t think she’d be able to handle one night as an ER nurse, let alone 40+ hours a week of it plus night school. 

 

Her classes don’t seem all that bad. English should be easy — her teacher seems to be one of the few who understands her anxiety and won’t force her to do oral presentations — and her Calculus teacher is much better than the Trig teacher she’d been saddled with last year. AP Environmental Science, her first Advanced Placement class (and only at Evan’s insistence — since her diagnosis, her mother’s refused to let her take Advanced Placement classes, citing the intense workload and stress of AP exams come May), is by far her favorite already — the teacher’s fresh out of college and full of information, the kind of instructor Evan’s always preferred, and it’s a small class, too, just fifteen of them, not half as daunting as her English class of thirty-two. Her pen explodes all over her shirt during her last class, which kind of sucks, but it’s certainly not the worst first day of school Evan Hansen’s ever had.

 

That still doesn’t mean it’s been a great day, though. Because it _hasn’t_ been a great day — especially not after that morning interaction with Connor — and there won’t be any great days to come, not this year, not ever, not with the mistakes she’s made.

 

Speaking of Connor. Evan needs to find him. He’s not in any of her classes (she actually wouldn’t be surprised if he’d skipped, though), and she’s got this sneaking suspicion that Connor blocked her number a long time ago. She needs to print out her dumb letter for Dr. Sherman first (something she can’t do at home, since the printer broke last month and they can’t really afford to get it fixed right now), but then, she thinks, maybe she’ll go find Alana Beck. She’s somewhat friendly with Zoe Murphy, and Zoe’s probably Evan’s best bet at getting in touch with Connor if she doesn’t want to wait to try to catch him in the hallways tomorrow.

 

Typing out her letter on the ancient school computer is frustrating and takes Evan a good thirty minutes (combined with a ten-minute break while she fields a phone call from her mom), but she finally finishes her work, reading over it one last time before she hits print.

 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing_

_week or an amazing year, because why would it be?_

 

_I know — because there’s Zoe, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe, who I don’t_

_even know, and doesn’t know me. Maybe if I could just talk to her._

 

_Maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different._

 

_I wish I was part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone._

_I mean, face it — would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?_

 

_Sincerely, your most best and dearest friend,_

_Me_

 

The printer whines, signaling that Evan’s letter is ready, and she’s just gotten up from her chair to go grab it when she hears the _click_ of the computer lab door opening. She jumps a little at the noise, having gotten used to the thirty minutes of near-silence, and instinctivelybacks up against the countertop, waiting to see who’s come in to torment her. 

 

Evan’s jaw practically hits the floor when she sees that it’s Connor. 

 

Her breath catches, pressure building in her chest as her brain rushes to figure out what to do. Should she speak? Should she wait for him to say something? Should she just pretend that nothing ever happened at all? She does need to talk to him, but just this morning he said she was a _freak_ , he probably wouldn’t want to be caught dead talking to her — 

 

“So, um, what happened to your shirt?” Connor speaks up, gesturing to the blue splotches covering the bottom half of Evan’s V-neck.

 

“Pen explosion,” she tells him, “kind of my fault because I got the brand that’s exploded on me before and I dunno why I did, I guess I forgot but — ” Evan trails off as her brain grinds to a halt, the overload of questions she wants to ask and things she has to say and stuff she wants to do all colliding and short-circuiting her mind.

 

“Oh,” Connor says, laughing softly. Evan’s missed that laugh. “Thought it might’ve been the printer — that thing’s so crappy.” Her heart starts to pound as Connor reaches over and grabs her letter from the tray, closing the space between them to hand it to her. 

 

Maybe she’ll get lucky, she thinks, and he won’t take the time to read the letter — 

 

Connor retracts his hand, eyes scanning the paper as he scoffs, “‘Dear Evan Hansen’ — you wrote a letter to yourself? Oh my god, I swear Mrs. Shepherd comes up with worse assignments every year —”

 

Evan sees it on his face as he gets to the part about Zoe, watches as the anger blooms and spreads across his features, and she instantly winces because she _knows_ how badly he’s going to misconstrue this, how it’ll automatically turn into a personal affront against Connor Murphy because that’s how he’s been taught to function — 

 

“‘Because there’s Zoe?’” Connor says slowly. His eyes narrow, and Evan reaches to grab the letter from him, hoping to prevent this disaster from getting any worse, but Connor’s so much _taller_ than her and he holds it above her head, out of her grasp. 

 

“Is this about my sister?” Connor asks. Then he shakes his head, answering his own question before Evan has the chance to. “You wrote this because you knew I would find it. Yeah, you knew I always come to the computer lab after school, and you wrote this because you _wanted_ me to see it.” His voice gets louder with every sentence, and Evan can feel herself shrinking, every molecule of her desperate to melt into the floor. 

 

“You had a thing for Zoe, didn’t you?” Connor yells, shaking the letter in her face. “You pretended to care about me because you wanted to get closer to her, right? And then you printed this out because you knew I’d read this creepy shit about my sister and freak out, so that you could tell everybody that _I’m_ crazy, right?!”

 

“No, no, Connor noit’snotlikethat, stop — ” Evan starts to plead.

 

Connor doesn’t listen.

 

“Well, you know what?” he screams, letter crumpling in his hand. “Fuck you, Evan Hansen. _Fuck you_!”

 

His voice breaks on the last two words, and Evan knows he’s breaking, too, cracking open inside ’cuz of this situation he’s imagined. It’s not Connor’s fault, she knows — it’s that ugly, self-hating part of his brain, the one that puts him in 24/7 Automatically Defensive Mode and leads him to interpret everything as a slight against him. Because the way that part of his brain thinks, why _wouldn’t_ everything be a slight against him? Why _wouldn’t_ everyone want to hurt him and hate him and exclude him?

 

Evan breaks with him. But before she can even try to defuse the situation, before she can even attempt to just reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, _touch_ him and calm him down, both Connor and her letter are gone.

 

Not even 24 hours into the new school year, and he’s left her. Just like her dad.

 

Just like everybody will eventually.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i CRIED writing this oops. also i lied there's not an explanation about zoe in this chapter bc i wanted it to be allll the angst but i promise there will be one in chapter four!!
> 
> thank you for all the love i've received. it is much appreciated :)
> 
> xo,  
> L
> 
> tw: suicide mention, panic attack

** three. **

Connor doesn’t come to school for the next three days, and Evan knows she’s done it now. She’d worried that telling him what he needed to be told would have had a similar reaction, but that would’ve been a result of his own fear — she would’ve scared him off, not pissed him off like she has now. 

 

He’s left, and their friendship is never going to be the same, and it’s all Evan’s fault. And she hates that. _Hates_ it. 

 

So when Evan gets called to the principal’s office on the fifth day of school, she is kind of expecting Connor’s parents. They’re probably here to tell her he punched through a wall or kicked down Zoe’s bedroom door again because of her letter, and she’ll have to pay the damages and also maybe for a new round of therapy or rehab. 

 

She walks in, Jared’s snickers after hearing the announcement over the PA system still ringing in her head, and takes a spot on the stool across from the sofa, where the Murphys are seated. This isn’t exactly the principal’s office — this is a “family conference room”, typically reserved for discussions of suspensions and expulsions — and Principal Howard is actually nowhere to be seen, so Evan calms a little, hands loosening their death grip on her backpack straps. If the principal isn’t here, she’s probably not going to be academically punished for anything she did to upset Connor.

 

Something’s off, though, she notices. The Murphys look more sad than angry — Connor’s mom, Cynthia, her eyes are red and there’s black smeared underneath her eyes, like her mascara ran earlier (exactly why Evan doesn’t wear makeup — panic-induced tears don’t mix well with that). His dad, Larry, is biting his lip, tapping his foot on the ground, hands shaking to the point where Evan can’t imagine that he doesn’t know they are. 

 

They’re not themselves. The Murphys pride themselves on being poised and composed at all times (the main reason Connor’s always been such a “ _problem_ ” for them), but what Evan’s got in front of her right now is certainly not the picture of poise — Connor’s parents, honestly, seem to be kind of a mess.

 

Evan forces herself to suck in a deep breath and distracts her nervous hands with a loose thread on her shirt. “Uh, what’s — what’s wrong, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy?” she stammers out. “T-they called my name on the loudspeaker, but Principal Howard isn’t here, is something going on?”

 

“Principal Howard stepped out, Evan,” Larry says gently, leaning forward so his eyes meet hers. “We wanted to speak with you in private.”

 

Cynthia chokes back a sob, wiping desperately at her cheeks with the back of one hand, and a wave of nausea hits Evan. The Murphys aren’t just off, they’re _beyond_ off. And why isn’t Connor with them? Shouldn’t he be here to explain the full extent of the damage that Evan’s unexplained letter did to him?

 

Evan shifts uncomfortably on the stool, and Larry turns to his wife. “Why don’t you go ahead, honey — ” he starts.

 

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Cynthia hisses, sniffling as she rifles around in her purse for a moment and then pulls something out. A crumpled piece of paper. Evan’s heart stutters. _It’s the same size as the letters she writes to Dr. Sherman._

 

Cynthia holds out the piece of paper, clearly expecting Evan to take it, but all she can do is stare at it, her own words being thrown back in her face. Because the paper, it says, _Dear Evan Hansen, Turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all_ , and Evan doesn’t need to read any more, _can’t_ read any more, because she knows it’s her letter.

 

The letter that Connor took.

 

“H-how do you have that?” she says quietly, another wave of nausea crashing through her stomach and making her lips go numb. She licks them once, twice, three times. The Murphys just stare at her, Cynthia’s eyes filling with tears all over again.

 

“Did he give this to you?” Evan asks, breath going shallow as she senses an attack coming on. This is too much, what does it even all mean, _where’s Connor and why didn’t he explain this to his parents_ — 

 

“We thought Connor wanted you to have this,” Larry says slowly, glancing at his wife and then back at Evan. “We were led to believe that these were his last words to you. Unless we’re mistaken?” Cynthia’s clutching at a tissue now.

 

Evan’s world slams to a halt.

 

“His last words?” she breathes. “What — what — what do you mean, his last words? _Connor’s_ last words?”

 

Larry shoots a desperate look his wife’s way, but all she does is shake her head, face crumpling like tissue paper, and so he speaks again. “Connor, uh… Connor took his own life.” 

 

“No, no no no, you’re wrong,” Evan insists, voice rising in pitch as she feels the pressure in her chest build to an almost crushing intensity, “you must be _wrong_ , Mr. Murphy, I just saw him Monday. He was _fine_ , I — I— I just saw him! I _just saw him_! _IjustsawhimIjustsawhim_ — ”

 

She’s distinctly aware of a whimper escaping from Cynthia’s mouth, she sees Larry getting to his feet as he gestures through the small pane in the door at someone, but Evan doesn’t stop to pay attention to any of those things, isn’t truly focused on anything at all, can’t even control what she’s saying or doing as she struggles against the panic that’s gripped her. “He can’t be _dead_ , Mrs. Murphy, _he wouldn’t do that, hewouldn’tdothatwouldhe_ , hecan’tbedead," she keeps repeating, over and over, suddenly finding herself by Cynthia’s side — the older woman is weeping uncontrollably now.

 

“He was _depressed_ , Evan,” she cries, “he was _depressed_.”

 

“No,” Evan shakes her head, “ _nonono_ , no, he would’ve told me if he was feeling that way, he would’ve _said_ something, he promised, he _promised_! _He would’ve told me he was feeling that way again_!” She’s screaming now, and her throat hurts and her chest hurts and there’s bile burning at the back of her throat, and everything is just _CONNORCONNORNOHEDIDN’THECAN’TBE_ and she can’t _breathe_ , she can’t fucking breathe, he said he would never leave, he _promised he promised hepromisedhepromised_ — 

 

Then Nurse Carrie and Principal Howard have their arms around her, holding her back, dragging her away from the nightmare in this conference room, and — 

 

And the last thing Evan sees is the Murphys. Staring at her. The letter on the floor.

 

She ends up on the floor, too, passing out from the sheer exhaustion of an attack of this caliber, and as her head connects with the tile, she thinks about how Connor has his mother’s eyes. And she almost smiles for a moment.

 

Then she remembers. She’s not going to see those eyes ever again. They won’t ever crinkle at the corners with laughter, or shine as he smiles, or even narrow with an angry gaze in her direction. Any of those things Evan would gladly give her life for just to see one more time.

 

But she won’t get to.Ever. And as her vision turns black, Evan’s mind turns back to the tree.

 

And she wishes she’d climbed higher than just 40 feet that time in June.


	4. four

** four. **

_The plain white cast that envelops her lower left arm is itchy and hot, and for the hundredth time, Evan wonders why she decided to go and fall out of a tree during the hottest season of the year._

 

_Well, not fall, exactly, but still._

 

_At least she only has one week of school left, she tells herself, choking a little on the overwhelming scent of Axe body spray, sweat, and cafeteria slop that her high school is so famous for as she walks into the computer lab. Her first day back after breaking her arm wasn’t exactly fun — her mom had suggested she ask the other kids to sign her cast, but even Jared hadn’t wanted to, just laughed and called it “pathetic” — but at least she gets to type all her assignments now. Her handwriting is infamously messy, and writing too long gives her awful hand cramps anyway._

 

_She’s just sat down at one of the ancient school computers when the terrible school scent disappears, replaced with something earthier and kind of… nice? Someone’s coming in, and whoever it is must wear some_ expensive _cologne, so Evan figures they won’t bother to try to associate with her. She keeps perfectly still in her chair, hands going sweaty as the door creaks shut behind the other student. Their shoes are making a clomping noise, she thinks — they must be boots of some sort. Maybe it’s Genevieve Perkins, she’s been going through a goth phase recently and bought these really scary spiky boots that are_ so _loud, they always make Evan jump when Genevieve walks by —_

 

_The new person sits two computers down from her. She catches a glimpse of them out of the corner of her eye and realizes it’s a boy. A boy with pretty dark brown curls that Evan’s boring, straight mousy-brown hair is_ really _jealous of, but a boy nonetheless. From what she can tell, he’s dressed in all black and is definitely the source of the pleasant earthy smell. She’s seen him around before, stomping through the hallways with a permanent glare, and Jared’s made a few offhand comments about his “psychopath-in-training” vibes before (which Evan, for one, doesn’t get at all from him), but she can’t quite remember his name. Something with a C, maybe? She does know that he’s a junior, just like her and Jared, and that he’s got a younger sister who’s a sophomore, but that’s about the extent of her knowledge._

 

_He glances over at her, and Evan’s cheeks burn as she realizes she’s been caught staring. She switches her gaze back to her keyboard and quickly busies herself with the biology essay she’s been working on since Monday, and time flies by as Evan gets immersed in one of her favorite subjects. Instead of taking a final, the teacher’s allowed her to write an essay on a biology-related topic of her choice, and so Evan’s chosen to write about trees and the important roles they play in their respective communities. She absolutely_ loves _it, and writing the essay doesn’t feel like much of a hassle at all. It’s almost like it’s not for school._

 

_By the time she finishes the essay, it only feels like a couple of minutes have passed, but then Evan spots the clock above her computer and realizes an hour and a half has gone by — she has an appointment with Dr. Sherman in an hour. Jared’s promised to give her a ride, his mother apparently declaring he hasn’t been nice enough to Evan yet this month to pay for the cost of his car insurance, and Evan knows she’s got to get going if she doesn’t want him to be mad at her._

 

_The printer spits out the essay, and as Evan slings her backpack over her shoulders and gets up to grab it, she realizes the boy is still there. Except she’s not the one staring at him this time — no,_ he’s _staring at_ her _._

 

_“So, um, what happened to your arm?” he asks, gesturing to that pathetic little cast. He’s turned all the way around in his chair just to face her, and something in Evan’s chest kind of flutters at how much a gesture as small as that means to her. Most people don’t bother to turn around in their chairs for her — most people don’t even bother to listen to what she says._

 

_“Oh, I, um, I fell out of a tree, actually,” she tells him, clutching her essay to her chest._

 

_“You fell out of a tree?” the boy repeats, brow furrowing._

 

_Evan swallows hard. “Mhm.”_

 

_“Well, that is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god,” he laughs, and Evan’s torn between wanting to laugh with him at how truly pitiful her life is or wanting to cry at how she’s only been talking to him for five seconds and he already thinks she’s the biggest loser to ever enter this computer lab. She settles for a small, “I know,” as her fingers trace the edge of her cast. She really wishes both she and it would disappear._

 

_“Um, no one’s, uh, signed your cast,” he points out. Evan realizes that, at some point during this conversation, he’s left his chair and now stands just a few feet from her, slowly but surely closing the gap between them._

 

_“No, I know,” she mutters, face heating at all of this unbidden (but not necessarily unwanted) attention._

 

_“Well, I’ll sign it,” the boy declares. Evan’s heart begins to pound._

 

_“You — you don’t have to,” she assures him, suddenly almost certain that her knees might give out from under her at any second._

 

_He shrugs, like signing this blank cast is no big deal, and Evan could pour her heart out, could do what she’s always been way too good at and spill out a million words to tell him just how big a deal it actually is to her, could scare him off — but she doesn’t. She just watches as he says, “Do you, uh, have a Sharpie?” and digs her hand around in her pocket like a woman gone mad as that registers in her brain. In seconds, she’s got the Sharpie her mom gave her this morning, and she holds it out to him._

 

_The space between them is finally filled as the boy takes her Sharpie and gently grabs a hold of her arm, murmuring an apology when Evan winces a little. Her nose fills with that delicious earthy scent from earlier, and this close, she can’t help but take in all of the little details, the ones that most people never notice — those are what always fascinate her about other human beings. He’s got a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and his skin is practically translucent. His strong nose and defined jaw offset the more almost-elfin qualities about him perfectly, and his eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue — Evan’s favorite color. They remind her of the sky. And his hair,_ God _, his_ hair _, is a fucking work of art. It just brushes his collarbone, all these wild curls that she already adores, and —_

 

_God, what is she doing? He’ll finish signing her cast and then she’ll leave and that’ll be all. They won’t be_ friends _or anything like that, is she fucking insane? Evan Hansen doesn’t have_ friends _, she has her Family Friend™ Jared Kleinman and his fucking $200 car insurance, but she doesn’t make friends. She doesn’t get to have people who actually care about her. This boy is showing her a temporary kindness for whatever reason — hell, maybe his AP Psych teacher assigned it as a part of their happiness unit, Evan remembers that project from when she took it last year — and then he’ll be gone. What is she doing, standing here and thinking about everything she already likes about this person she barely knows? This person who she’ll_ never _get to know?_

 

_The Sharpie squeaks loudly as he finishes signing her cast and then caps the marker with a flourish. “Great, thanks,” Evan says quickly, taking the Sharpie from him with her good hand and shoving it into her back pocket. She won’t look at the cast. Not now. She’s too attached already — if she learns his name, that just might be the end of her._

 

_“Yeah, sure,” the boy replies, messing with a buckle on his messenger bag. Evan likes the pins on it, the ones covered with names of obscure bands she’s never heard of — although she does spot a Coldplay pin, which seriously warms her heart, cuz they’re her favorite — and slogans she’s seen on Tumblr before._

 

_It’s annoying, because it makes her like him even more._

 

_“You know, if I, uh, had a cast, nobody would probably sign it,” he adds, just as Evan turns to leave. “Um, I was in the hospital for a couple weeks my freshman year, and — well, nobody came to see me. And I just figured…” He trails off, not finishing his sentence, but Evan understands perfectly. He knows what it’s like to be an outcast, to get hurt and have nobody care at all. And she knows, too. They share that awful knowledge, and while it’s something Evan would never wish on someone else, it’s almost nice, in a way — to finally meet someone who gets it._

 

_And so she looks down at the cast._

 

_“Connor,” she says softly._

 

_“Connor Murphy,” he supplies. “And you’re?”_

 

_“Evan Hansen.”_

 

_“Nice to meet you, Evan Hansen,” he grins, and Evan’s floored by it because she’s never seen something so beautiful in her life._

 

_Shit. She’s in deep._

 

_“Nice to meet you, too, Connor Murphy,” she says, a smile spreading across her face. She’s taken aback by how steady her voice is, no trace of a stutter or stammer there, and Connor must notice it, too, because he raises a brow and a dimple pops up in his cheek (that tells Evan it’s a genuine smile)._

 

_They’re both quiet for a second, and it’s the same kind of peaceful feeling that she gets when she’s at the park._

 

_She loves it._

 

_The silence is broken by the sound of Evan’s phone, a crappy old LG model, pinging with a text. It’s Jared, of course, shouting in all caps about how_ HE’S GOT CALC HOMEWORK DAMMIT _and_ WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE _. It puts her on edge, this reminder that she_ is _gonna have to deal with the oh-so-glorious Jared Kleinman in a few minutes, and she laughs nervously at it. The moment’s gone._

 

_“I— I better go,” she announces, clearing her throat. The smile disappears from Connor’s face. “Um, see you around, maybe?” She regrets the words the instant they leave her mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all._

 

_“Sure,” he nods._

 

_She waves an awkward goodbye, hoping Connor doesn’t notice the way her hands are shaking, and leaves him in the computer lab._

 

_She lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding when she steps into the hallway._

 

_And then she sees it, on the side of the cast she hadn’t checked before._

 

_A phone number._

 

_Connor’s._

 

 

——

She wakes up to find her mother hovering over her.

 

“Oh, Evan,” Heidi whispers, reaching down brushing back a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m so sorry, sweetie, I had no idea.”

 

She wonders for a second what her mother’s talking about, and then she remembers — 

 

Connor. He’s gone. He _left_. For good.

 

An awful ache blooms in her chest.

 

“Are you feeling any better?” her mother asks. Nurse Carrie steps into the room carrying a paper cup and a pill bottle, and Evan can tell from the bland gray walls that she’s in her office — panic attacks, though none quite as big as this one, have sent her here plenty of times before. 

 

Evan shrugs, not trusting herself to speak at the moment. There’s still the burning taste of bile on her tongue, and her head hurts. She hopes she doesn’t have a concussion, and she hopes that she didn’t hurt anyone.

 

Hopes she didn’t hurt the only thing she has left of Connor.

 

Nurse Carrie hands her the pill and Evan swallows it dry, refusing the offer of water that comes with the medication. Her mother watches the whole thing, like she’s scared to tear her gaze away from her daughter for a second. Guilt coils in Evan’s stomach at the thought that she’s worried her mother this much. 

 

“Um, the Murphys gave me a copy of the letter — of _your_ letter,” Heidi corrects herself, pulling the now-worn piece of paper out of a pocket in her jeans. Her eyes shine with fresh tears at the sight of the letter, and Evan wants to cry, would cry if she had a speck of energy left in her to even attempt to. “Evan, honey, I didn’t know you were feeling this way,” her mother murmurs, one hand interlacing with Evan’s and squeezing. “Maybe we should make the sessions with Dr. Sherman more regular? Two times a week, instead of once?” 

 

_No, Mom, you can’t afford that._ Evan shakes her head, croaking out, “No, Mom, it’s okay. I — I don’t need — ”

 

Her mother shushes her. “We can talk about it later, baby. I want to give you the treatment you and Dr. Sherman both think you need to get better.” She looks over the letter again, then adds, “But you said in the letter — you said that all your hope was pinned on Zoe? Are you talking about Connor’s sister? Zoe Murphy? His parents said he had a sister named Zoe.”

 

Evan gives her a tiny nod, suddenly feeling very small and very fragile. _She used “had”. Connor_ had _a sister named Zoe. Because he’s not here anymore, and Zoe doesn’t have a brother anymore. She’s an only child now._ Nausea washes over her again at the thought.

 

“What did you mean, sweetie? That all your hope was pinned on Zoe?” 

 

Evan wants to screw her eyes shut and fall asleep again. Fall asleep _forever_. Forget this all ever happened and just move on. But she has to come up with a reason, has to do the ugly thing and _lie_ to her mom, because if she tells her mother the real reason all her hope is pinned on Zoe, that Zoe was the only person she could trust to help her and Connor, the only one who wouldn’t judge them or get too mad at them for their mistake — if she tells her mom that, it’ll just make things worse. And she knows her mom can’t deal with worse. Not right now.

 

So she lies.

 

“I just — I knew you wanted me to make more friends this school year, Mom, and I-I thought Zoe might be a good start,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She was just so _nice_ , and I—” She’s on the verge of full-on sobbing, and thank God, her mom can tell and stops her.

 

“We can talk about it another time, hon,” she tells her, patting Evan’s shoulder, nothing but warmth and kindness in her voice. Evan feels so _fucking_ bad already. “I’m gonna take you home and let you get some rest, okay?” her mom continues. “Let your medicine kick in. And then I made you an emergency appointment with Dr. Sherman at 3:00.”

 

“But, Mom, the bus doesn’t come until 3:30—”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Ev, I took the day off,” her mom says firmly. 

 

That just makes Evan cry harder.

 

She doesn’t deserve her mom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoyed the flashback! there'll be plenty of 'em throughout this story to help further establish and develop connor and evan's relationship. 
> 
> finally explained the "all my hope is pinned on zoe" thing (well, kinda)! woo! 
> 
> thanks for all the love and support. i truly enjoy reading your comments. makes my day :)
> 
> xo,  
> L


	5. five

** five. **

She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to deal with this.

 

Dr. Sherman ups her dosage, but Evan doesn’t know if it’s safe to take, so she relies on the older stash of meds she’s got tucked away. When she runs out of those, she figures, she can cut the higher-dosage pills in half and work from there.

 

The benefit of her panic attack at school being on a Friday is that she gets the entire weekend to “recover”. Except the problem is, she can’t recover. Can’t recover because, as if Connor’s suicide weren’t enough to deal with on its own, she’s got another problem. Because when Connor killed himself and left her behind, he wasn’t just leaving Evan and his family.

 

He left someone else, too. Someone he hadn’t even met yet.

 

Because Evan, well. She’s pretty sure she’s pregnant. With Connor Murphy’s baby.

 

And she doesn’t know what the hell she’s gonna do.

 

If she’s being realistic, Evan’s aware she can’t afford to have a kid. Her mom’s struggling just to pay for her night classes and Evan’s college fund, and that’s with the salary from 40 hours a week of work plus overtime. Children are expensive — Evan remembers reading somewhere a while ago that just one kid can cost you over $100,000 over the first eighteen years of their life. _$100,000._ That’s more than their _house_ is worth.

 

So she could have an abortion.

 

But wouldn’t she be guilty, she wonders? It’s not that she’s not pro-choice — she’s always been a strong advocate of a woman’s right to choose — but it’s just that, this baby, this baby is half Connor’s. He or she, they’re the last living piece of him. Does she have the right to kill that off? Can she live with the knowledge that she did that for the rest of her life? 

 

Evan doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t fucking _know_. And so this is why she’d needed Zoe — because she’d needed someone rational, someone smart and calm and collected, someone kind and generous who she knew wouldn’t judge. Zoe Murphy had been the perfect candidate to help her sort out whether they could keep the baby, put it up for adoption, or schedule an abortion.

 

Until her brother killed himself.

 

And now Evan has no clue, no clue at all. She can’t talk to her mom, can’t deal with the tears and the disappointment and the worry. She can’t tell Connor’s parents — they’ll flip their shit if they think Evan’s even _considering_ aborting or giving up their dead son’s child.And she doesn’t think she can tell Zoe anymore, because Zoe will be stuck in her grief and drowning in her emotion just like the rest of them, and she’ll be biased because of that — and Evan doesn’t blame her, but. She needs someone _unbiased_ , someone _uninvolved_.

 

But who else does she know?

 

And then it hits her. He’s an asshole, but. He’s her last resort. Her only option. Her potential saving grace.

 

Jared Kleinman. She’s got to talk to Jared.

 

——

“ _Jesus_ , Hansen, what the hell is so important that you’ve got to wake me up at 8 AM on a Saturday?” Jared Kleinman groans, standing in the doorway of his bedroom and looking _extremely_ unhappy. Evan’s just thankful he’s not in his pajamas — a ketchup-stained Tabasco Hot Sauce T-shirt and fraying khaki shorts aren’t that much better, but at least she’s being spared the sight of the “glorious pickle boxers” he claims to wear to bed most nights.

 

She bites her lip, trying to hold back the tears already. “L-look, can I come in? Your mom said it was okay for us to hang out today, a-and I won’t stay long if you don’t want me to, but I really need to talk to you, alright? I— I don’t have anyone else,” she mumbles, staring at the floor.

 

Jared softens. Maybe he can see the pain written all over her face. “Okay, Evan. You can come in,” he says, opening the door wider and letting her through. 

 

It’s a tornado of a room, piles of video games and comic books peppered with a wood desk set and matching wardrobe, Jared’s backpack tossed somewhere in the corner. Evan stands there awkwardly for a couple of seconds, not sure where she can sit, until Jared gestures at his bed. She perches on the edge of his worn navy comforter and gets a sense of déjà-vu. 

 

Jared drags the chair from his desk over, positions it so they’re face-to-face, and sits. “So what’s the deal, Hansen?” he asks.

 

Evan takes a deep breath. “Connor Murphy killed himself Monday evening.” She forces herself to stutter out the words, even though they make her heart hurt.

 

“Yeah, and?” Jared crosses his arms.

 

“Well, Connor and I — we — we were _friends_ over the summer, alright? A-and b-basically, some stuff happened, and I — I think I might be pregnant.” Evan lowers her eyes, too ashamed to meet Jared’s gaze. 

 

“With Connor Murphy’s baby?” Jared clarifies.

 

Evan nods, and he laughs out loud. “H-how screwed am I?” she whispers.

 

“I dunno, man, you’re in some pretty deep shit here,” Jared chuckles, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I mean, pregnant with the spawn of a dead psychopath? And not just a dead psychopath, but a dead psychopath who _offed himself_? That’s pretty fucked.”

 

“Shut up, Jared, d-don’t talk about him like that,” Evan chokes out, tears forming a knot at the back of her throat as she feels her chest grow tight. She really doesn’t want to have a panic attack in front of her only friend — if Jared Kleinman can even be considered that — but with the way he’s talking, an attack is definitely coming on. She _is_ fucked, and she knows it, but does he really have to reinforce that so clearly?

 

“Aw, shit,” Jared curses, finally noticing the flushed face and trembling lip that always precede yet another spectacular panic attack. He hops off the bed and kneels by her side, offering up a crumpled bottle of Deer Park that she’d have probably declined for sanitary reasons in other circumstances. Against her better judgement (although recent events have kind of shown her that maybe her judgement isn’t all that great to begin with), Evan snatches the bottle from his hands like a dying woman, plastic cap clattering to the floor.

 

“Wasn’t trying to make you upset, but hey, look on the bright side,” Jared continues, patting her on the back as she chugs the water. “The Murphys are _loaded_ — you’ll get one hell of a child support payment out of them.” 

 

Evan spits out her water.

 

“W-what the _hell_ , dude?” she hisses. “I— I don’t even know if I want to keep it! I can’t raise a child, I can’t even afford to pay for my own college, let alone someone else’s!”

 

“But the Murphys—”

 

“The Murphys aren’t responsible for my mistakes, okay, and they’re not going to be involved in this because it isn’t their _fault_ , okay?! I— I mean, why should they have to pay for what _I_ did?” Evan cries, that awful weight coming back to settle on her chest again. “Why should they have to pay because their stupid son had sex with a stupid girl who accidentally broke the _stupid_ condom and—and then their _stupid_ son decided to go and _kill_ himself without another word? Without even… without even telling me how he felt. Before I could’ve even tried to help him. Why should they have to pay for that?”

 

She’s crying, she realizes, and Jared is just staring at her with wide eyes, and something about that makes her dissolve into sobs, shoulders shaking, snot pouring from her nose, breath stuttering until Evan feels like she’s hardly breathing at all. 

 

And then, for once, Jared does the nice thing. Jared does the nice thing and puts his arm around her. Holds her until her tears subside and the pressure on her chest eases. Apologizes for making her cry and offers to drive her to school for the next week.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Evan thinks, Jared isn’t a Family Friend™. 

 

Maybe he’s a _real_ friend.

 

She can definitely use one of those. 

 

——

Evan can tell that Jared is trying his best to be good when he offers to grab her some pregnancy tests from the local Dollar Tree (“No one we know will be there!” he insists). He doesn’t even insist that she pay him back on the spot.

 

He even makes her laugh when he texts her asking if she has a brand preference (she doesn’t).

 

His mom departed for book club as soon as Evan arrived, so it’s not like they’re going to get caught. Still, it’s an admirable thing for Jared to do. Fate always makes you run into people at the worst of times, in the craziest of places, and God knows what the high school rumor mill would do if Jared Kleinman was caught buying pregnancy tests at the Dollar Tree.

 

He returns an hour later with a bag full of $1 pregnancy tests. “The lady up front said they’re just as effective as those fancy digital ones,” he tells her as he dumps the bag at her feet. “She’s on Kid Number Five and swore to me they’ve worked every time.”

 

Evan disappears into the bathroom for a good five minutes; she’s had enough water to pee on three sticks.

 

Then they wait.

 

Jared tries to distract her, challenges her to a session of Halo 4, but Evan shakes her head, hugs her knees to her chest and wishes she could pretend this isn’t real. That she might not be pregnant with the child of a dead teenager. That she might not be a mother at seventeen. That she might not be totally and completely screwed.

 

The timer that they set up on Jared’s phone goes off, and Evan heads back to the bathroom, swaying on her feet already.

 

_Please, if there’s a God, don’t let these be positive_ , she pleads to the universe as she walks over to the counter where the tests lie. _I’m barely surviving Connor dying, I don’t think I can handle this, too. Please give me a break._ Please.

 

The tests are all positive.

 

So positive, in fact, that they suck out almost all the dye from the strip.

 

Evan falls to her knees.

 

——

Jared suggests they go out to lunch, take a drive, do _something_ to clear her mind and give her time to think, but Evan doesn’t want to think right now. She wants to go numb, truth be told, and lose all emotion entirely, but since she can’t do that, she at least wants the opportunity to cry alone.

 

So she treks home, Jared watching sadly from his doorstep, and collapses onto her couch the moment she gets through the door.

 

She cries for the third time already that day, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, chest absolutely on fire and the sound of her pitiful sob-hiccups echoing throughout the room. She cries so much she almost gets delirious with it, and she gets so caught up in all the emotions she wishes she didn’t have that she ends up talking to Connor.

 

_Connor_ , for Christ’s sake, who’s not even here.

 

“I messed up, Connor,” she wails. “I messed up, and I — I don’t know what to do! I-I-I miss you, and I’m _s-s-so scared_ , and I’m fucking _lost_ without you, okay? _Help me_! Where _are_ you, Connor, where did you _go_? Why’d you _leave_? _You didn’t even tell me goodbye_! And now I’m all _alone_ , and it’s — it’s _all your fault_!”

 

She ends up screaming at the ceiling, and she’s faintly aware of someone coming through the front door, but her vision’s gone so blurry from her crying that she can’t even tell who it is, not until she smells the familiar gardenia of her mom’s favorite perfume and realizes it’s Heidi Hansen who’s joined her on the couch, who’s wrapping her in her arms and whispering into her hair that it’s all going to be okay.

 

“How am I supposed to live with this, huh?” Evan sniffles, tear-stained face turning up to look at her mother. “I mean, how am I supposed to live with the fact that he read my letter and then — then went home and _killed_ himself? How could _anyone_ live with that, or not blame it on themselves? He’s dead, and it’s — it’s all my fault, Mom. _It’s all my fault_.” 

 

She murmurs an apology to Connor when she thinks her mom can’t hear.

 

Because it was her fault, wasn’t it?

 

Everything is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo this is a hot mess just like me!!
> 
> jared is a bit of an asshole, alright, but he's trying to be better?? let's cut him some slack ok
> 
> also evan is Not Well, my poor baby, i'm so sorry
> 
> next chapter: exciting murphy family dinner, woot


	6. six

** six. **

The  Murphys invite her over to dinner on Sunday. Evan doesn’t find out directly from them — they call the house, apparently somehow having obtained the Hansen landline number, and talk to her mom about it. According to her, they want to talk to her, seeing as she “obviously felt so strongly about Connor”.

 

_If you knew he was dead because of me_ , Evan thinks, _you’d all never want to see me again._

 

She doesn’t want to worry her mom by trying to decline — according to Dr. Sherman, social interaction after trauma like Connor’s suicide is especially important — so Evan grabs her one clean dress and borrows a pair of kitten heels from her mom, and she tries to pretend that everything is alright and this is going to be just fine.

 

But she ends up just staring at the outfit she’s laid out on her bed, hands shaking and breath gone shallow, because it’s not going to be just fine, is it? She’ll walk into that house, and she’ll see a thousand different reminders of Connor, and it’ll _hurt_. It’ll hurt because she’ll never get to see his smile or hear his laugh or touch those soft, wild curls again, and there’s nothing she can do to change that. It’ll hurt because she’ll find out all the million little things she never got to discover about him, like what the seventh book on his list of top ten favorite reads was, or the infamous “ear piercing story” that he’d promised to tell her one day but never got to. The Murphys will inadvertently remind her of just how much she’s lost, and how can she deal with that? How can she deal with that when she knows that she’s lost all those things, and it’s all because of her stupid fucking letter?

 

She hasn’t texted him for anything other than school stuff in months, probably back before even the tree incident, but Evan grabs her phone anyway and composes a text to Jared. She only hesitates for a moment before hitting send. 

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 5:15 PM **

** SOS, the Murphys have invited me over to their house for dinner tonight **

** and I don’t know what to do, Jared, shit I’m freaking out.  **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 5:16 PM **

** I don’t think I can do this. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:18 PM **

** jesus, ok chill first off **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:18 PM **

** u gotta do this hansen,  **

** don’t be a pussy **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:20 PM **

** i know it’s gonna be hard **

** but this is the PERFECT  **

** opportunity to talk to zoe, **

** u gotta just force urself to **

** calm down and go for it **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:25 PM **

** evan… u ok? **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:30 PM **

** i’m gonna come over there **

** & antagonize u if u don't  **

** respond soon **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:35 PM **

** evan hansen u better  **

** fucking respond to me **

** right now. not to make  **

** threats or anything but i’m **

** only one street over, i  **

** could be at ur house in 5. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:40 PM **

** EVAN **

 

Evan splashes some cold water on her face, trying to calm her swollen eyes and flushed face, and finally responds to Jared’s text, telling him she’s decided to go after all and not to worry about her, that she’ll update him when she gets back. 

 

She can’t stop staring at the dress on her bed. Before, its bright blue hue had been comforting to her, but now it just reminds her of the color of Connor’s eyes. 

 

She slips it on anyway, wincing as she squeezes her feet into the heels that are just a touch too small. Her hair’s clean but kind of a frizzy mess, so Evan braids it back and hopes the Murphys don’t care about her appearance too much — because, honestly, she can dress herself up as much as she likes, but that won’t hide the effect Connor’s death has had on her. No amount of concealer (which Evan doesn’t own to begin with) can cover the purplish bags under her eyes; no amount of foundation can hide the puffiness of her face, and not even a million tubes of mascara could distract from how bloodshot the whites of her eyes are. She’s falling apart, and putting her in some patent heels and a pretty dress won’t make a difference.

 

The Murphys will be able to tell.

 

——

When Evan rings the doorbell at 5584 Camellia Lane, she’s expecting to find a family in pieces. A grieving mother, an angry father, a saddened sister. Not a perfectly-put-together Cynthia Murphy in khakis and a cashmere cardigan that probably cost more than her mom’s last paycheck.

 

“Hi, Evan,” Cynthia says warmly, extending her arms out for a hug. Evan barely knows the woman, but they both loved Connor, so as much as she hates being touched by strangers, she lets Connor’s mother hug her. She smells like roses. 

 

Cynthia ushers her into the dining room, where Zoe and Larry are already seated. Zoe’s sporting a scowl at first, but when she sees Evan walk in, she throws a tiny smile her way, and the pain in Evan’s chest eases a bit. Larry gives her a tight smile, too, but it’s obviously not as genuine as his daughter’s. 

 

“T-thank you for having me,” Evan says quietly, once they’ve all been seated and Cynthia’s invited them all to start eating. She’s made some kind of gluten-free lasagna that Zoe evidently refuses to touch, and Evan hasn’t had much of an appetite since Friday, but she shovels some food onto her plate, if only to make Connor’s mom feel a little better.

 

“Thank you for coming, Evan.” Cynthia reaches across the table and places her hand on Evan’s, patting it in some sort of attempt at comfort. “These past few days, well… they’ve been hard for everyone,” she continues, voice thick with tears, “and we saw on Friday just how much Connor meant to you. We thought…”

 

Cynthia falters, looking over to her husband for support. “We thought you might want to join us so we could talk,” Larry jumps to fill in. 

 

“Um, talk about — talk about what?” Evan asks, glad that Cynthia’s removed her hand now so she can tuck her own hands under her legs to hide how badly they’re sweating. 

 

“Connor’s letter,” Zoe informs her, leaning back in her chair and rolling her eyes. “It’s all they’ve been able to talk about since he died.”

 

“Zoe!” Cynthia scolds. 

 

“What, Mom, you want me to pretend that you’re not living in a fantasy?” Zoe hisses, standing up so quickly that her chair wobbles. “Like you’re not worshipping Connor’s memory, making him into someone he wasn’t? He wasn’t a _good person_ , Mom. He was an awful brother and an awful son, and you can’t just make that all go away because he wrote a sad fucking suicide note!” 

 

She turns on her heel and sprints up the stairs to her room, slamming a door somewhere upstairs a couple seconds later. 

 

Cynthia lets out a quiet sob, and Evan can tell that Larry’s fists are clenched underneaththe table. Evan might not be as much of a visible wreck as they are right now, but Zoe’s words hurt them all in a way. They hurt Connor’s mother because she wanted to believe the kind, funny little boy she raised is all Connor ever was. They hurt Connor’s father because he wonders where he went wrong — at what point did the offers of baseball gloves and toy planes not become enough? And they hurt Evan because she knows there was more to Connor than this. He was more than the blinding anger Zoe knew these last few years. He was more than the ten-year-old devouring _Catcher in the Rye_ that Cynthia loved so dearly. He was more than the arguments and frustration that colored his time spent with Larry. And he was more than the shattered dreams and unrealized aspirations they’d all created for him.

 

Connor can’t be defined by any one person, because he was complex. He was a human being. It’d be wrong of Evan to just sit there and call him “kind”, because he wasn’t always kind. But it’s also wrong of Zoe to sit there and call him a bad person or an awful son or an awful brother, because that isn’t all Connor ever was. He had many sides, multiple layers, and the side Zoe talked about certainly isn’t the one that Evan got to know. 

 

Evan needs to get out of here. “Um, if it’s al-alright, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, I can go talk to Zoe,” she offers. They just stare at her, like they’re flashing back to Friday in the conference room, and Evan hastily adds, “I-I’d _really_ like to talk to her. About Connor.”

 

Larry relaxes, shoulders slumping, and Cynthia’s soft weeping ceases for a moment as they both nod at her. “Of course,” Cynthia manages to get out. “I—I’m sure Zoe could use someone right now, too.” 

 

Evan thanks them, carefully places her napkin on the table, and takes the stairs two at a time. When she reaches the top of the staircase, she realizes she forgot to ask the Murphys which room would be Zoe’s — but, luckily enough, the guitar case propped against the wall by the first door on the left leads her to the right place. She swallows hard when she spots a closed door at the end of the hallway covered in band stickers and a large “KEEP OUT” sign — she knows that room must be Connor’s.

 

She knocks gently on the door, once, twice, three times, and waits for a response. It takes a second, but after a few moments of waiting that feel like a lifetime to Evan, Zoe cracks open the door, a sullen look already spread across her features. “Look, Mom, I told you — ” she begins, quickly stopping short when she realizes it’s Evan, not Cynthia Murphy, at her door.

 

“Evan. Hey.” Zoe’s eyes are wet, but Evan tries her best not to look at them, for fear she’ll embarrass the other girl.

 

“H-hey. Can I, um, come in? If that’s okay? Sorry, I just — I want to talk to you, and y-your mom said it was okay, so — ” Evan lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, and something about that makes Zoe chuckle a bit as she opens the door all the way and lets Evan in, nearly slamming it shut behind them.

 

They both end up sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor, like they’re kids again, ’cuz Zoe’s bed is covered in sheet music from practice for the jazz band concert earlier, and they’re both too drained from the week to even attempt to find the energy to move it. Evan doesn’t mind. “So, uh, what’s up?” Zoe asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It feels like her eyes, a deeper, equally beautiful version of Connor’s, can see straight into Evan’s soul. Can see all her secrets. Maybe Evan won’t even tell her about the baby.

 

Evan lets out a long breath. “Connor didn’t, um, C-Connor didn’t write that letter,” she says, staring down at her lap. “I did. I-it was an assignment from my therapist, he wants me to write letters to myself everyday, and — and so I did, and I had just written one of those when Connor found it. And he got mad at me for talking about you in my letter, and he took it home, and then, um —” Evan stops. She’s pretty sure Zoe knows what happened from there.

 

“Oh.” That’s all Zoe says for a second, and Evan breaks out in a cold sweat, because what if Zoe’s angry with her now? What if her whole family has gotten so invested in this belief that Evan’s letter was actually Connor’s last words to his very best friend, what if it’s been all that’s held them together this week? What if she thinks Evan held off too long on telling the truth about the letter, and now she’s going to call Evan a liar and tell everyone what a horrible person she is?

 

Evan wouldn’t blame her. She is a pretty horrible person. Connor certainly at least agreed.

 

“I — I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Evan mumbles. “I — I know it was wrong of me.” She wishes she could disappear, Zoe’s gaze burning holes into every part of her.

 

“Um, no, it’s — it’s okay, Evan,” Zoe tells her. Evan looks up and finds nothing but understanding in those pretty blue eyes, and she nearly falls over with relief. “It sounds like this week’s been pretty hard on you, too, and I don’t blame you. Just — can you tell me something?” Evan nods earnestly. She’ll do anything, _anything_ , answer however many questions Zoe wants if it means she’ll earn her trust. A Murphy’s trust is never to be taken for granted, Evan knows that by now.

 

“Why did you say that all your hope was pinned on me?” Zoe questions, so obviously searching for an answer in some part of Evan’s features as she refuses to do anything but meet her gaze. “I read the letter. You talked about how ‘all your hope was pinned on me’, even though you didn’t know me and I didn’t know you. What does that mean?” 

 

Evan’s heart slams against her ribcage. This is the one question she should’ve been anticipating, but it’s also the one question she hadn’t, and the absolute last question she wanted to hear from Zoe. Because to fully and truthfully answer that question, well — that would require telling Zoe _everything_. And Evan doesn’t know if she has it in her to do that.

 

But, no. No, she has to. She can’t lie to the Murphys, not when they were partially responsible for the most precious thing she’s had so far in her seventeen years of life, even if that precious thing is gone now and was prone to the occasional fit of anger. She can’t lie to them when she knows how their pain at losing Connor feels, because she’s going through it, too.

 

They’ve all lost Connor. And so Evan can’t lie to them, not a single one, but especially not Zoe, sweet, smart Zoe, the girl she’s always looked up to, even if Evan’s technically the older one.

 

“Do — do you remember how Connor, um, brought me… how Connor brought me around a few times this summer when y-your parents weren’t home? And that’s how you and I met? B-but Connor wouldn’t let us all hang out? Because he said I was just helping him with some summer assignments, and he didn’t w-want you to poach me?” Evan stammers out.

 

Zoe nods.

 

“Well, I, uh, I wasn’t helping him with summer assignments.” Evan lets out a shaky breath, and she tries to focus on how proud her mother would be of her for telling the truth, even when it’s this hard. “We were friends. _Best_ friends, maybe. B-but I messed up. We messed up. We did something we shouldn’t have, and he left before I woke up, and he just — he wouldn’t talk to me. A-and I, I found out that our mistake had had a consequence, and I’d never really talked that much to you before, but I-I knew I could trust you. Because you didn’t seem like the judging type, a-and you were always so nice, and smart, and I just —”

 

Evan’s eyes well with tears, but she notices that Zoe’s got silent tears spilling down her cheeks, now, too. She’s a bright girl — she’s put the puzzle together faster than Evan ever could if she were in her shoes. “And that’s why all your hope was pinned on me?” Zoe breathes. “Because — because you were pregnant? And you thought I’d be able to help you guys?”

 

Evan tries to say _yes_ , but it comes out as more of a broken whimper as the crying overtakes her ability to speak.

 

“It’s okay, Evan,” Zoe murmurs, and she’s suddenly being pulled into a hug, the younger girl taking her into her arms like it’s her responsibility to soothe the girl who ruined her family. “It’s gonna be okay,” she repeats in Evan’s ear. “We’ll figure something out.”

 

The comfort is nice, but eventually it gets to be too much, overwhelming Evan’s anxiety-ridden system, and she pulls away, leans back on her heels so she and Zoe are still at eye-level. “You’re not mad?” Evan says softly. “I-I thought you would be. Especially a-after what you said downstairs. You and Connor, you — you didn’t get along, did you?”

 

Zoe wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, laughing quietly at something Evan doesn’t entirely understand. “Yeah,” she replies. “We — we hadn’t really gotten along since I turned thirteen. We both had these awful stubborn streaks, and we were always butting heads. And when Connor’s depression got worse, when he turned to drugs and he was angry a lot of the time, he used to take it out on me sometimes. I, I don’t think he meant to, I deliberately provoked him a lot because I was angry, too, just in a different way.” She sounds almost wistful now. “And I remember this one time last year, he came home really high, and he started kicking down my door and screaming he was going to kill me because I’d stolen one of his favorite books. I shouldn’t have done it — Connor’s books were everything to him — but anyway, I did and he found out, and our relationship was just so _damaged_ at that point. It was beyond repair, probably. But I guess I'll never really find out."

 

She’s staring at the cuffs of her jeans, and Evan sees that they’re covered in little penciled-on stars. “The awful side of Connor was all I’ve known for a while now,” Zoe says softly, sadly, “and that’s why I got so frustrated at dinner. Because my mom, the way she’s coping with all this is to try to pretend that Connor was the perfect kid, that he never did anything wrong, and we all know that’s a lie, don’t we? I still have a crack in my first guitar from that time in eighth grade he decided to throw it across the living room.” 

 

She gives Evan a watery smile. “But I’m glad you got to know a different side of him. I just wish he could’ve shown that side to me, y’know?” Zoe shakes her head. “I wish I could’ve helped him. And I wish I could say that forgiving him is going to be an easy process, but I’d be lying just like my mom if I tried to say that.”

 

Evan bites her lip, and Zoe adds, “But I do want to forgive him, even if he’s not around to know it anymore. I’m going to try.” She reaches out for Evan’s hand, a whole pile of assorted woven and leather bracelets sliding down her arm, and their fingers intertwine. It’s scarily intimate, but Evan doesn’t flinch or back up. The cool dryness of Zoe’s hand is nice, in such sharp contrast to the clammy heat of her own. Evan remembers that Connor’s hands were always scarily cold. Maybe it runs in their family.

 

“Evan, I want you to know that I’m not mad at you,” Zoe says firmly, “and I’d never be mad at you for telling me something about Connor. I’ve got my own stuff to work through that he left behind, and you’ve got yours, we’ve all got something. And I respect your feelings, and I’m okay with it. Really. As long as you don’t lie, alright? As long as you don’t lie.” 

 

“A-alright, Zoe,” Evan tells her, waiting for Zoe to let go and tell her to go now.

 

But Zoe doesn’t let go.

 

And somehow, Evan knows she won’t let go until they’re both ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't want this to be one of those fics where we pretend like zoe just immediately forgives connor when he dies, because in the musical she so clearly doesn't, it's a process, it's taking her time. and i wanted to convey that. i hope i did her at least a bit of justice.
> 
> i'm actually really proud of the scene with zoe and evan tbh. it's been one of my favorites to write so far. i love their friendship in this fic. i hope you guys will, too.
> 
> as always, thank you for the love and support. much love to you all.
> 
> xo,  
> L


	7. seven

** seven. **

After  her talk with Zoe, Evan figures the next step is to tell the Murphys that the letter they believe to be Connor’s last words was actually one of her therapy assignments. In some ways, that’s an almost more daunting task than confessing to Zoe about the pregnancy, because Evan knows they’ve already created this fantasy world in their minds, a place where Connor died thinking of his sister and Evan. In reality, nobody knows what Connor was thinking when he killed himself. Maybe he wasn’t thinking of anything at all.

 

Evan doesn’t want to shatter this false reality the Murphys have created, because what if it’s been their only comfort these past few days? She can tell that Cynthia, at least, is clinging on to this scrap of hope that the letter’s given her, this desperate want to believe that Connor was good to everyone else around him and maybe he only treated his family poorly because they deserved it. Connor’s mother wants to think that his memory will live on, that he’ll get to be one of those kids they put in the news and create projects and foundations for, and while Evan’s not saying he doesn’t deserve it, it’s just — what would that all be for? Connor will still be dead, and to try to build a charity off of the back of a misconstrued letter and hollow hopes would be doing a disservice to both the person he really was and anyone who would fall for something like that. 

 

But it’s going to be hard to tell them this. So hard. And so Evan and Zoe descend the stairs, hand-in-hand, the most contact Evan’s had with anyone except her mom and Connor since pre-K, and when they reach the bottom, Zoe gives her hand a tight squeeze, shoots her a soft smile, and lets go.

 

They’re both ready now.

 

Cynthia and Larry are still seated at the dinner table as Evan and Zoe enter the dining room. They’re talking quietly about something, but they stop abruptly when they spot the two girls. “Hi, Evan, and — Zoe,” Cynthia breathes, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. She’s obviously completely taken aback by her daughter’s reappearance — Evan guesses that the Murphys are the kind of family where, post-argument, everybody shuts themselves up in their rooms and no one comes out until the next morning — but then she seems to remember herself and clears her throat, gesturing at a chair. “Sit down, girls.” 

 

Evan takes her chair from before, napkin and abandoned food still both on the table, and can’t decide if she’s nervous or grateful that she’s got the seat directly across from Cynthia. Zoe sits to her left, throwing one last smile of support her way as she settles in the chair, and Larry stays in his spot at the head of the table.

 

The temperature in the room seems to dip fifty degrees when Evan looks around and realizes she must be in Connor’s seat.

 

It makes her head spin to think about that, and Evan fiddles with a thread on her dress, trying not to let her mind go in that direction right now. “Evan, I think you had something to tell my parents?” Zoe prompts, something on Evan’s face obviously giving off _help-I’m-lost-in-thought_ vibes.

 

Evan nods a little too enthusiastically, the spot where she hit her head on Friday throbbing at it, and folds her hands in her lap. “Y-yes, Zoe, thanks. Um, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, I just — I need to tell you something about Connor’s letter,” she starts.

 

Larry and Cynthia exchange nervous glances. “Go on,” Cynthia urges. Evan’s stomach turns at the eagerness in her tone.

 

“The letter wasn’t Connor’s, Mrs. Murphy,” she says simply. “It was mine.”

 

Evan winces the instant the words cross her lips, because the Murphys instantly look like they’ve gotten their world ripped out from under them, Cynthia’s hands flying to her mouth to hold in a cry, Larry biting his lip and glancing away. “What do you mean, it was yours?” Cynthia chokes out. “It — it was addressed to _you_.”

 

“Yes,” Evan nods. Her stutter’s calmed for the moment, and she’s never been more grateful for that. “It’s an assignment from my therapist. I’m supposed to write letters to myself to, uh, improve my confidence and my general outlook on life, I guess? Connor came into the computer lab when I was printing one out on Monday, and he found it and got mad that I’d talked about Zoe. Then he walked off and took it with him, and…” She falls silent. No need to fill in the blank there.

 

“Thank you for telling us, Evan,” Larry says hoarsely, face wet.

 

“Well, um, that’s not all, Mr. Murphy.” Evan takes a deep breath. “Connor and I were friends. We met in, uh, early June? He signed my cast and things just kind of went from there, I guess. We had an argument in August and hadn’t really talked since then, until I saw him on Monday.” Her voice cracks on the last word, the memories flooding her brain almost too much to handle.

 

“No wonder Friday was so hard on you,” Cynthia murmurs through her tears.

 

“It _was_ hard, it’s — it’s all been really hard, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. That’s why I didn’t tell you at first, I-I’m still trying to process it all myself,” Evan sniffles, feeling a crying jag coming on. “I wish he hadn’t left us. I wish he hadn’t left you, I wish he hadn’t left Zoe, I wish he hadn’t left me or the baby —”

 

Cynthia gasps, Zoe’s jaw drops, and Evan stops short when she realizes what she’s just done.

 

“The baby?” Cynthia repeats. Larry clenches his jaw. “Are you — were you —” She stumbles through her words, so unsure of what to say, and Evan can’t blame her. She’s pretty damn unsure of what to say herself right now, too.

 

“Evan, maybe you should go home, we’re all really tired,” Zoe tries, but Evan shakes her head. No, better to come clean now than to keep living a lie. Telling the Murphys about the baby was probably the next logical step anyway — it’s easier to tell them than her mom.

 

“Yes,” Evan says quietly. “I — I’m pregnant.”

 

“And you’re sure it’s Connor’s?” Larry cuts in. Zoe narrows her eyes, scoffing at her father’s words, and Cynthia instantly admonishes him, hissing an infuriated _“Larry!”_ his way. He shrugs. “I had to ask.” 

 

Evan gives him a watery smile. “No, no, it’s — it’s okay. It’s definitely Connor’s,” she assures them. Her hands are shaking, and she hides them under the table.

 

“How far along are you?” Cynthia asks, voice trembling.

 

“Um, five weeks, I think.” Her feet are aching — these heels have given her blisters, and suddenly Evan wants nothing more than to go home. She prays the Murphys won’t have too many additional questions.

 

“You’ll — you’ll keep the baby, right?” Cynthia sounds like she could break in half at any given moment.

 

Evan tenses. This is the one question she’s always begged the universe to not be asked. “I — I don’t know,” she answers honestly. 

 

Cynthia just gapes at her, and Evan senses a meltdown in the air. Zoe must be able to feel it, too, because she jumps up from her chair and hurries to Evan’s side, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her up. “C’mon, Evan, it’s getting late,” she says, “we can talk about all this tomorrow — ”

 

“No. Don’t leave.” Zoe’s hand freezes on Evan’s sleeve. “Please,” Cynthia begs. “Evan, you have to hear me out. You can’t abort this baby. It’s — it’s the last thing I have left of my _son_ , you have to understand. It’s all we’ve got left of Connor — ”

 

“Evan doesn’t owe anyone anything, Mom,” Zoe says curtly. “She doesn’t have to keep a baby she doesn’t want, and you shouldn’t try to guilt-trip her into not having an abortion. But like I said, we can talk about this later. Come on, Evan, let’s _go_.” She tugs on Evan’s arm again, and this time, Evan lets the younger girl take her away, shoulders slumping as they reach the front door in record time. She can hear Cynthia crying and Larry talking, and she knows she’s messed up. She should’ve just kept her stupid mouth shut, right? Shouldn’t have said anything at all. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ — 

 

“I’ll drive you home,” Zoe tells her, keys already dangling from her fingers. 

 

——

The drive home is quiet and awkward, and Evan’s mind automatically drifts to Connor. 

 

What were his own rides with Zoe like? She knows he got his car taken away a lot and Zoe usually ended up playing chauffeur. Did they talk at all? What radio stations did he listen to? Would he change the channel, even if Zoe asked him not to? Would he have wanted Zoe to be a careful driver, or would he have gotten impatient and urged her to break every law?

 

Evan wishes he were still here to tell her all of that himself. If she ever wants to learn, she’ll have to get it from someone else, and, well — she’s got enough secondhand sorrow to last her a lifetime right about now.

 

When they pull up to Evan’s house, Zoe lets the car idle, reaching out and grasping Evan’s elbow when she starts to get out. “Evan,” Zoe says softly. “I just want you to know — you shouldn’t make any kind of decision based on what you think other people will want, alright? Connor would’ve wanted you to have a choice. You _do_ have a choice. Don’t keep the baby because you think it’ll make my mom happy, or get an abortion just because you’re worried your mom’ll be mad. Choose whatever you choose based on what you’re able to look back on in five years and feel at peace with. Okay?” 

 

Evan can only nod, tears burning at the back of her throat.

 

Zoe gives her a gentle smile. “Promise me you won’t let my mom bother you.” She pauses, then reaches into the glove box, pulling out a spare napkin and a leaky pen. It takes her a couple of seconds to quickly scribble something on the upper half of the napkin; then she tears off the part she's written on and hands it to Evan. “Here,” she says. “Call me or text me, whatever, if you want to talk. Just because Connor and I didn’t have a great relationship, it doesn’t mean that you and I shouldn’t. And I want you to do what’s right for you, alright?”

 

Zoe encases her in a hug, both of them shaking harder than they probably realize, and waves her goodbye through the windshield as Evan closes the car door behind her and walks up to her house. She waits until Evan’s got her key in the door to peel off, leaving the smell of burning rubber behind her (Evan thinks that Zoe would probably be a much more careful driver on any other day). 

 

Her mom’s in bed already, worn out from the week, and so Evan doesn’t try to disturb her to talk. Instead, she tiptoes into her bedroom and slides bonelessly to the floor, back against the chipped white wood of her door. It feels like the entire universe is closing in on her.

 

Yes, she has a choice. But having a choice means she’ll have to _decide_.

 

And Evan doesn’t know if she can do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor evan. everything is such a mess.
> 
> zoe is such a Good though, bless her, i love her.
> 
> thank you for all the love and support. i love y'all with all my heart. <3


	8. eight

** eight. **

Evan  had known that school wasn’t exactly going to be a cakewalk come Monday. When she gets into Jared Kleinman’s car that morning, however, she starts to actually realize that this might be more difficult than anticipated.

 

Jared is sporting a button with Connor’s face on it; it’s right there, loud and proud and right where Evan can see it, pinned just above the head of the rooster on the Sriracha sauce T-shirt he’s wearing. Jared’s been so good this weekend, and Evan doesn’t want anything to cloud that, but she can’t help it — the sight of the pin makes her blood boil, because she knows it’s everything Connor wouldn’t have wanted.

 

“Jared,” she says carefully, voice high and fragile as he shifts gears and heads in the direction of the school, “why are you wearing a button with Connor Murphy’s face on it?”

 

“Gotta capitalize on the law of supply and demand, Hansen,” Jared tells her, everything so casual to him as he makes a sharp left turn that leaves Evan’s heart pounding. “Have you even been on any social media since Friday? Now that everybody knows Connor offed himself —” Evan winces, and Jared makes an apologetic sound — “they’re doing what the modern-day American teenager does best and trying to make it all about themselves. Sharing stories, talking about how their English class is gonna miss him _soo_ much, blah blah blah. Alana Beck wants to start a memorial scholarship fund in his name.” Jared chuckles. “Funny, right? I mean, everybody knows Connor didn’t give two shits about school.”

 

Evan stays quiet, her left arm tingling like it always does when she thinks about Connor. “He liked reading,” she finds herself whispering. “But nobody on Twitter or Facebook would know that, right? Because they didn’t bother to actually get to know Connor, they — they just wanted to label him a ‘freak’ and be done with it. T-this school made him so goddamn _miserable_ , and now they’re all acting like he was their best friend, a-and it’s not fair!” 

 

She’s almost yelling now, and Jared slams on the brake as they reach a sudden red light. He turns to look at Evan. “I’m sorry, Evan, I didn’t think about how that might upset you,” he says softly. Evan feels uncomfortable; she’s still not used to this nicer side of him. “I’ll take it off if you want,” he offers, flooring the accelerator as the light goes green again. Evan clutches at her seat; what she _really_ wants is to get to school in one piece. No wonder Jared’s car insurance is so fucking high.

 

The Evan of before would’ve told Jared that it was okay, to keep the button on, to not worry about her stupid feelings, but — she’s going to have to learn how to say no to people sooner rather than later, right? Especially because anyone who finds out about her pregnancy is going to be asking something of her, and Evan can’t say yes to all of them. She has to learn to stand up for herself, even in the smallest of ways.

 

Pride courses through her veins as she straightens in her seat and says, “Yeah, could you do that, actually? I don’t think I can handle seeing that today on top of everything else.” Not even a trace of a stutter. Evan feels a small, satisfied grin spread across her face.

 

They pull into the school parking lot, Jared performing a parking job so crappy that Evan has to wonder how he ever passed Driver’s Ed, and they’re both silent as he puts the car in park and shuts off the engine. Neither of them moves to get out — they’re actually a little early, in the lot a couple minutes before the school doors even open — and Jared’s the one who clears his throat first and breaks the silence.

 

“Um, Evan. You should probably check your Twitter. Or your Facebook, or — whatever, really, just. I think you need to prepare yourself,” he tells her, voice gentler than Evan’s ever heard it before. “People are in kind of a frenzy.” 

 

Evan bites her lip, knowing he’s right but _really_ not wanting to confront this reality. Still, she pulls out her phone, Jared huffing a small laugh at the sight of it, and opens up Twitter first.

 

She’s got a message from Alana Beck. 

 

**Alana Beck**

**@alanabeck47**

_** Hey, Evan. I heard about what happened ** _

_** on Friday and wanted to see how you’re doing. ** _

_** Everyone’s really torn up about Connor, we’ll ** _

_** all miss him so much. He was a very good  ** _

_** acquaintance of mine, we did a book report ** _

_** on The Great Gatsby together sophomore ** _

_** year and we were supposed to be lab ** _

_** partners in Chem this year. I wish he’d told ** _

_** someone he was feeling this way. Anyway, ** _

_** I’d like to start a scholarship fund in Connor’s ** _

_** name, and maybe also a suicide prevention ** _

_** foundation. I was thinking we could call it  ** _

_** the Connor Project. I’d love to have you as my VP. ** _

_** It seems like you and Connor were close, so let me know what you think. ** _

_** And you can always DM me if you need to talk. ** _

_** Thanks!  ** _

_Sent: 5:35 PM, Friday, September 15th_

 

Evan’s thumbs hover over her phone’s screen, completely unsure of what to say. She doesn’t ever Tweet anything, she’s not really sure why she has Twitter at all actually, and she doesn’t know what the proper etiquette for a direct message is. Especially a direct message about something like this. Should she message Alana back? Should she ignore it? No, that’d be rude, she’s pretty sure Twitter shows read receipts. But Connor wouldn’t want anything like the “Connor Project” or a scholarship fund, and Evan can’t let Alana do that — 

 

“Hansen, stop hyperventilating.” Jared’s voice cuts through her flood of panicked thoughts. 

 

“I’m not hyperventilating,” she protests, flinching as she says it because she’d promised herself just yesterday that she wouldn’t lie anymore. 

 

“You’re having considerable trouble breathing,” Jared points out. “Look, get off of Twitter, okay? And if Alana is enough to make you freak out, then for the love of God, don’t even attempt Facebook —”

 

Too late. Evan’s already got the app open, breath shallow and fast as she scrolls through her feed. There’s pictures of Connor everywhere she turns, ones of him with short hair, ones from middle school, ones Evan doesn’t even know how these people found. Have they been in touch with the Murphys? It seems like every post is a eulogy of some sort, written by teenagers who definitely don’t know how to write eulogies. Facebook Messenger lets her know that she’s also got the exact same message from Alana that she received on Twitter, both apparently sent within the span of two minutes. Jesus, that girl is dedicated.

 

And then Evan comes across the post that breaks her.

 

It’s a photo of Connor, Zoe, and one of Zoe’s friends — she thinks Lizzy might be her name — at last year’s jazz band concert. Zoe’s in the middle, arms slung around her brother and her friend, a wide grin splitting her face, indigo streaking her hair. Her friend’s also smiling, but it looks a little tense. And then there’s Connor, not even bothering to fake happiness, dressed in all-black as per usual and hair just past his ears. He looks miserable, Evan thinks. She can just picture the context of the photo — Zoe and her friend wanting to get a shot together for Instagram, Connor hanging around in the background after having been dragged to Zoe’s concert, probably high, and Cynthia insisting that Connor join them so they could all at least pretend he had a social life.

 

The photo makes her sad, but the text accompanying it makes her angry.

 

_Connor_ , the post reads, _we never got to hang out much but u were always so funny and nice. best bio lab partner i couldve asked for. u will be missed._

 

It’s just three simple little sentences, but. Evan knows it’s fake. She _knows_ it’s bullshit. She knows this guy never gave a fuck about Connor, because she remembers seeing him taunt Connor in the hallway before. He’d called him the next Eric Harris, asked him if he was going to start a chapter of the Trenchcoat Mafia at their school. And to top it all off, the photo he’s attached isn’t even one of him with Connor. He’d stolen it from Zoe’s Instagram.

 

Her hands shake and Evan feels an aching pressure in her jaw as she grits her teeth against the anger. She hates this pretending, how everyone at their school is trying to act like they were best buddies with Connor when, really, they were some of his worst tormentors. People want to start scholarship foundations and anti-suicide projects, but when they’re the ones calling people _“freak_ ” in the hallways and ignoring desperate pleas for help, what the fuck does that all matter? They didn’t really care about Connor. Nobody did, no one except her and the Murphys, and they’d all only really cared when it was too late. She’d tried to help him, but it hadn’t been enough. Cynthia hadn’t even known what to do. Zoe had been lost in her own feelings of hurt, anger, and resentment. And Larry, Larry hadn’t even understood the depths of Connor’s illness. And they, they all have to live with the pain of that, the pain of knowing they were so close to him yet so far away, and these assholes on Twitter, on Facebook and Instagram and Snapchat, they don’t even _know_. They don’t know what it’s like, and they never cared enough to be in a position to feel this kind of pain at Connor’s loss, and yet they’re the ones trying to garner sympathy and tell everyone they loved and mourn Connor? 

 

_Fuck_ that.

 

She throws her phone at her feet so roughly that it makes Jared jump in his seat. He unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to pick it up. Evan can smell the overpowering scent of his citrusy cologne, and she actually wants to throw up now (no offense to Jared). She clamps a hand against her mouth, trying to hold it in, wondering if she’d be able to run off to a bush or something to puke.

 

No can do. Bile burns at the back of her throat, mouth filling with saliva, and Evan only just manages to wrench open the car door and hang the upper half of her body out over the pavement before she’s puking Cheerios all over the asphalt.

 

Jared groans loudly and hands her a water from his backseat when she’s done. “Close the door, Hansen, we’re gonna go park someone else before Admin figures out that came from someone in my car and makes me clean it up.” 

 

As gross as the situation is, it makes her genuinely laugh for the first time in weeks.

 

Evan appreciates him for it.

 

——

She can’t stop puking the whole day — she runs to the bathroom to spill whatever she’s got left in her stomach at least twice per class. People are starting to talk, courtesy of Alana spreading the fact that Evan and Connor were friends. Apparently, the senior class overachiever is friends with just about every faculty member at this damn school, and when Evan hadn’t shown up to Health after being called down to the principal’s office, Alana had managed to wrangle some details out of Nurse Carrie. It’s a blatant violation of Evan’s privacy, but what is there to do? The entire grade knows by now already, and they’re treating her like she’s oh-so-fragile, everyone giving her those pitiful stares she hates and telling her she can talk about Connor with them if she wants. The attention is suffocating, and every time someone looks at her or even turns in her direction, Evan doesn’t think it’s physically possible for her chest to get any tighter — except it does, the pressure keeps growing and growing, and she seriously doesn’t even know how she makes it to last block. Even sitting with Jared and Zoe at lunch hasn’t helped much.

 

Fourth block health is thankfully the easiest class she’s got, but dealing with Alana is something Evan’s certainly not looking forward to. As she walks through the classroom door, she prays that by some stroke of luck, Alana will be out sick today, or maybe she’ll have garnered the teacher’s permission to miss class today and go off to do her Senior Class President duties, whatever those are. Honestly, Evan doesn’t care about the reason — she just doesn’t want to deal with the inevitable flurry of questions.

 

But of course, the world hates her and Alana’s here today, seated right next to Evan’s usual spot. Evan has to wonder if today could get any worse. She’d definitely been right about one thing in last Monday’s letter — this isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. She’s not going to have any good days. Maybe because she doesn’t deserve them — that sure seems to be the reason so far.

 

“Evan!” Alana chirps, tossing her ponytail over one shoulder as she twists in her seat to face her. Evan eases herself into the chair, nausea already bubbling in her stomach again. _God, what is wrong with her?_

 

“H-hey, Alana,” she manages to get out, pasting on a fake smiles so wide it actually hurts. “What’s up?”

 

“I just wanted to check on you,” Alana says earnestly, reaching down into her bookbag and pulling out a stack of papers. “I’m sure the past couple of days have been really hard for you. You and Connor were close, right?”

 

“Who told you that?” Evan retorts. She’s never been borderline rude like this before, but the second Alana brings up Connor’s name, her system goes into automatic defense mode. 

 

Alana looks a little stunned at Evan’s insta-hostility. “Uh, well, everyone just kind of assumed, I guess?” She’s more hesitant, choosing her words carefully now. “You _did_ have a panic attack when the Murphys told you Connor died. And you haven’t been online all weekend. Did you get my messages?” 

 

“Yeah, Alana, I-I got them.” She suddenly feels exhausted, wishes she could melt into this chair and never have to say another word. “I’m just — can we not talk about it, please?” 

 

Her voice has gone small and fragile, and for once, Alana lets up. “Sure, Evan. But I wanted to give you this — maybe you can look over it when you get home, text me tonight and tell me what you think? I wrote my number on the twentieth page,” she tells her, placing the stack of documents from her backpack on Evan’s desk. “It’s information about the Connor Project — I’m applying for a 501©, and I had you down as Vice President since I thought you’d want to be involved, so you’ll just have to sign wherever I put an X. Oh, and there’s also a proposal for the Connor Murphy Scholarship Fund in there.” 

 

Evan tastes acid on her tongue, and before she can even attempt to reply, she’s bolting out of her chair, grabbing for a pass and sprinting out into the hallway, classroom door slamming shut behind her. A couple of stragglers by some lockers give her weird glances as she runs by, but Evan’s too desperate to get to a bathroom to care.

 

She’s just shut the door of the first stall she could find behind her when her body forces her to drop to her knees over the toilet and retch.

 

She’s more dry-heaving at this point, the water and apple she had at lunch long gone, but Evan’s body still convulses like there’s poison in her stomach that it needs to eliminate, stat. Puking actually kind of hurts at this point, and Evan feels tears beading in the corners of her eyes as her stomach contracts one last time. She flushes the toilet and leans back on her heels, swaying a bit as she does so. Her blood sugar’s probably insanely low at this point, since she hasn’t been able to hold anything down all day.

 

She can’t go back to class. She knows that. Thank God she’d still had her backpack strapped on when she’d left the room.

 

She pulls out her phone from the front pocket of her backpack and texts Jared and Zoe, her only real sources of support right now. She can’t tell her mom — she’d either get suspicious or at least force her into a doctor’s office, where they’d perform tests and very quickly discover the true source of her sickness.

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 1:00 PM **

** Do you think the nurse will call my mom **

** if I ask to go home because I’ve been throwing **

** up so much? **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 1:01 PM **

** of course, hansen, don’t **

** be a fucking idiot. how **

** else would u get home? **

 

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 1:03 PM **

** that’s not very nice, jared. **

** besides, you have fourth **

** block off, right? couldn’t **

** you take evan home? **

** she wouldn’t even have to **

** tell the nurse, her teacher **

** won’t do anything about  **

** her missing the rest of  **

** class cuz they’ll probably **

** just assume she’s at the  **

** nurse anyway. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 1:05 PM **

** ffs. the perils of being a  **

** senior and having all but **

** 3 of ur credits. unlike **

** some people *cough **

** cough evan* **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 1:06 PM **

** You don’t have to if you don’t want to,  **

** Jared. I just don’t know what I’m  **

** going to do. I really don’t feel **

** well enough to go back to class. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 1:06 PM **

** Alana was SUPER intense today. **

** She tried to give me a whole pile **

** of documents, but my body saved me **

** by forcing me to go puke before I could **

** take them.  **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 1:07 PM **

** alana beck’s philosophy **

** in life is most definitely **

** “where theres a will, **

** theres a way”. 5 bucks **

** says she’ll dm them **

** to u. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 1:08 PM **

** you do understand what **

** being nice is, right, jared? **

** alana might not be the **

** most in-tune with other  **

** people’s feelings, but i’m **

** sure she’s just trying to  **

** help however she can. **

** she doesn’t mean any **

** harm. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 1:09 PM **

** but if you want $5 so bad, **

** here’s a deal —  **

** $5 says you won’t take **

** evan home. you’re **

** probably just sitting around **

** playing fallout shelter **

** anyway. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 1:10 PM **

** dammit, zoe murphy, **

** i’ve only known u for one **

** day and u already know  **

** me way too well.  **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 1:10 PM **

** Does that mean you’ll take me home? **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 1:12 PM **

** i hate u guys. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 1:13 PM **

** evan, sneak out the **

** side door. i’ll be there in **

** five. im dropping u on **

** the side of the road if u **

** start puking in my car tho. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 1:13 PM **

** Thank you, Jared. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 1:15 PM **

** see, isn’t it so nice when **

** everyone gets along? **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 1:16 PM **

** gotta go for now guys. **

** my apush teacher’s onto **

** me. evan, we’ll talk later. **

** drive safe!!! **

 

——

Jared does pull through and drives her home, and Zoe texts them both to say that she’s coming over to Evan’s place after school so they can all talk. Jared doesn’t seem all that surprised by it, and Evan wonders if they’re planning an intervention of sorts. 

 

Nah, that’s way too organized of a thing for Jared Kleinman to pull off.

 

However, she’s clearly underestimated the organizational skills of Zoe Murphy, because an hour later, there she sits, curled up against her headboard while Zoe perches on the edge of her bed and Jared reclines in her desk chair. 

 

“Evan, this is an intervention,” Zoe declares.

 

“S-seriously? For what? We’ve only been talking for, like, a day,” Evan protests.

 

“You puked all over the frickin’ school _parking lot_ , Hansen. That typically requires an intervention,” Jared says.

 

“But I’m pregnant, of course I’m gonna puke —”

 

“Evan, you shouldn’t be throwing up so much that it hurts,” Zoe tells her, throwing a kind smile her way, so reminiscent of the scene at the Murphys’ dinner table last night. “You’re gonna get dehydrated if this keeps up. You need to see a doctor.”

 

“Which means you need to tell your mom,” Jared adds.

 

The anxiety that’s slowly dissipated over the past hour quickly flares up again, Evan’s mouth instantly gone dry. “No, guys, I-I-I can’t, she’ll be so upset,” she insists, voice getting higher and higher as her panic builds. “W-what’ll she even say to me? She’ll have to work so much to pay for everything, oh my _god_ , no no no I can’t tell her Ican’ttellher—”

 

“There’s no need to tell me, Evan. I already know.”

 

Evan’s blood goes cold as her mom appears in the doorway of her bedroom, still dressed in the same old stained scrubs, looking more furious than she’s ever seen her. “Zoe, Jared, thank you for being here for Evan, but you should probably go now,” Heidi says. Jared and Zoe exchange a look of mutual alarm and jump up from their respective positions. Jared waves goodbye, and Zoe tosses one last comforting look over her shoulder as she leaves. Evan hears the front door close and Zoe and Jared’s cars beeping as they’re unlocked a few moments later.

 

The room is completely silent, unbidden tears spilling down Evan’s cheek, breath coming in short pants, knees hugged to her chest as she realizes what’s about to happen. _Fuck fuck fuck_ she’s messed up.

 

“Evan, let’s talk.”

 

Oh, god. She wants to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh the drama! sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger of sorts, but, y'know. a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
> 
> jared and zoe are pretty great friends. and let's be real zoe is so good at throwing shade, she calls out EVERYBODY y'all, this girl doesn't take any prisoners!! also can we take a second, jared is totally the kind of guy who would just drive off and find somewhere else to park if his friend puked in the school parking lot. the sriracha t-shirt is one he wears in the musical btw so i didn't pull that out of nowhere
> 
> poor evan. she's very sick. but maybe now that her mom knows she can get help???
> 
> alana might not be very likeable rn but she's doing her best ok, be gentle
> 
> also i know nothing about business or taxes so i did some quick research and found out that non-profits could apply to be a 501(c), so that's what i had alana mention because she totally would do that tbh.
> 
> thank you for all the love and support! <3 please let me know what you think so far in the comments!! i absolutely love further analyzing characters, dialogue, and moments (and more!!) with y'all and in general just squealing over the characters we adore so please feel free to do that
> 
> xo,  
> L


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE, ya girl churned out another chapter bc i absolutely prioritize writing over everything else haha (don't worry tho, i took a nice long walk so i got out of the house, it's all good y'all)

** nine. **

"You  know,” Heidi Hansen says sharply, “I was pretty confused when I got a call from Cynthia Murphy this morning asking what prenatal vitamins my daughter needed. I was also pretty confused when Cynthia Murphy then offered to buy whatever prenatal vitamins were necessary, since ‘she was a grandmother-to-be, after all’.” Her mom uses air quotes, stabbing her fingers into the air to punctuate Cynthia’s talk, and Evan cringes at the image she manages to conjure up in her head of that conversation.

 

“And so you know what I said to her, Evan?” Her mother steps closer, meeting Evan’s eyes, and Evan knows she can’t look away, no matter how badly she wants to. The hurt is written all over her mother’s features, expressed in her slumped shoulders, her crossed arms, shiny eyes and creased brow, and Evan has never regretted anything in her life more than telling Cynthia Murphy about her pregnancy before she told her own mother. 

 

“I said to her, no way. My baby girl would never come to someone else first with something like that. Not before telling me. You must have the wrong Evan Hansen,” her mom chokes out, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “Because _my_ Evan, the Evan I know, she’d never do that.”

 

Fuck. Evan’s heart feels like it’s shattering in her chest.

 

“Why didn’t you come to me, Evan?” her mom whispers, taking Zoe’s abandoned spot on the edge of the bed. “I thought we could trust each other, always. I thought I’d raised you to know that you could come to me with _anything_ , no matter how hard or scary or upsetting. I’ve always told you I’d rather hear the truth from you than find out from someone else.”

 

Heidi’s voice is thick with unshed tears now. “Do you know how much that _hurt me_ , Evan?” she says hoarsely. “To know that my own child would rather talk to a near-stranger about something as big as this? Because she didn’t feel comfortable telling me? Be honest, are you scared of me? Did — did I do something to break our trust?” 

 

Evan can barely speak past the lump in her throat. “No, no no no, Mom,” she shakes her head. “You — you don’t understand, it wasn’t that I don’t trust you —”

 

“We’re not a _charity case_ , Evan, we don’t need Cynthia Murphy to pay for anything!” her mother hisses, cheeks wet as she cries openly now. “I work and I take classes because I want to be able to provide for you. Do you know how painful it is to hear someone else say that they don’t think I can do that for you? I’m your _mother_ , that’s my job, not anyone else’s.” A muffled sob escapes from her mother’s lips, and Evan scoots forward, wanting to close the distance between the two of them so badly, but scared she’s damaged them too much to do that.

 

“M-Mom, _please_ , let me explain,” Evan begs. Her chest feels like it might explode, snot’s pouring from her nose, and she’s on the verge of wailing, she’s so hysterical. “I-I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to _disappoint_ you, okay? Because — because that’s the worst feeling in the world, because I love you and I don’t want everything you do to go to waste because I’m a—- a failure! I’m a mess and that’s not your fault, it’s all mine, and I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d worry, and I-I knew you’d work even harder, and you _don’t_ deserve that, Mom. You deserved a better daughter, and I-I-I’m s-so sorry.” 

 

“Oh, _Evan_ ,” her mother says quietly, and then she’s wrapped in her mom’s comforting arms, inhaling the scent of gardenia and feeling warm hands stroke at her hair. “You’re not a failure, sweetie,” she murmurs. “And it’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure something out, alright? We always do. I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” Evan nods, and they both pull back, Heidi squeezing her daughter’s shoulders in one of the best gestures of comfort Evan knows.

 

“I need you to know something, Ev. You are the _best_ thing to ever happen to me,” her mom says fiercely, eyes glimmering. “I don’t regret a single moment of the time I’ve spent with you, and you are more than worth every hour of work, every homework assignment, every commute. Please don’t ever doubt that.” 

 

Evan nods again. She’s so overwhelmed that she doesn’t think she could form a proper sentence if she tried. “I love you, Evan. Now let’s talk about getting you in to see a doctor,” her mom begins.

 

Evan’s never felt so loved. 

 

——

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:30 PM **

** I have a doctor’s appointment first **

** thing tomorrow morning. Things with **

** my mom are okay. I hurt her a lot **

** but I think we can move past it now. **

** She really does love me. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:31 PM **

** Thanks, you guys, for trying to get me **

** to tell. Thank you for caring. I know it’s **

** probably hard to put up with me.  **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:35 PM **

** evan, are you kidding? we care about you. it’s **

** seriously the least we can **

** do.  **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 4:37 PM **

** i, for one, am pumped **

** that ur not gonna be **

** puking in or around my **

** car anymore.  **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 4:38 PM **

** so howd ur mom find out **

** anyway?? zoe and i  **

** certainly didnt spill the  **

** beans **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:40 PM **

** Um, Zoe’s mom called and asked what **

** prenatal vitamins I needed. She was **

** going to buy them for me. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:41 PM **

** Zoe, don’t flip out please. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:41 PM **

** you’ve gotta be fucking **

** kidding me **

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:42 PM **

** evan i’m so so so sorry,  **

** my mom is a nutcase, **

** i had no idea she was **

** gonna call or else i  **

** would’ve done something **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 4:43 PM **

** jesus fuck r all u  **

** murphys crazy **

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:43 PM **

** JARED!!!! Apologize right now. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 4:44 PM **

** fine, sorry zoe **

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:44 PM **

** gee thanks. what **

** a heartfelt apology. **

** you’ve got me sobbing **

** jared. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:45 PM **

** Don’t worry about it, Zoe. Your mom **

** was just trying to do what she thought **

** was the right thing. It’s alright. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:45 PM **

** And Jared will DEFINITELY be buying you **

** a grape soda tomorrow to make up for his **

** asshole comment and shitty apology. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:46 PM **

** oh hell yeah, wait **

** how’d you know grape **

** soda is my guilty  **

** pleasure? **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 4:46 PM **

** fuck no i refuse to  **

** support the sale of the **

** travesty that is  **

** grape soda, that shit can **

** go back to the pit in hell **

** where it came from  **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:47 PM **

** Connor told me. He said you used to **

** hoard it by the case for really bad days. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:47 PM **

** And Jared, there’s no point in fighting it. **

** She’s just going to use the $5 you were supposed **

** to get from the bet to buy it if you don’t do it **

** yourself.  **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:48 PM **

** oh. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:49 PM **

** i didn’t know connor **

** remembered that. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:50 PM **

** Well. He did. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 4:51 PM **

** alright u sappy fucks **

** i’ll buy u both grape sodas **

** tomorrow. but fair warning **

** evan they are literally **

** satan’s soda. just thought **

** id let u kno since uve **

** never had one. zoe **

** idk how u can drink that **

** shit, its like chugging **

** childrens tylenol. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 4:53 PM **

** haha well to each **

** their own. i’ve gotta go **

** practice, i’ll talk to you **

** guys later. peace out **

 

Evan doesn’t know Zoe super well, but she likes to think she’s pretty good at reading people, and from what she can tell, there’s an undercurrent of sadness in Zoe’s last few texts. Evan mentally curses herself for being so stupid. She should’ve known better than to bring up Connor, not when Zoe’s working so hard to try to forgive him. She’s probably just making it that much more difficult on the other girl by telling her about all these sappy memories.

 

She’s worried, so she exits out of the group chat and texts Jared. 

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:55 PM **

** Jared, did I do something wrong? **

** Zoe seems upset.  **

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 4:56 PM **

** Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up Connor. **

** That was dumb of me. **

 

**From: Jared Kleinman**

** 4:58 PM **

** i mean she’s gonna have **

** to hear about connor at  **

** some point, ur pregnant **

** with his kid its not like we **

** can all just forget about  **

** him **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 5:00 PM **

** But this is all so hard on her. **

** She’s working really hard to forgive Connor. **

** They didn’t have the best relationship, you know. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:01 PM **

** yeah i kinda gathered that **

** when zoe apologized to **

** some random freshie in **

** the hallway one day after **

** connor pushed him  & **

** proceeded to call her brother **

** a “psychopath”  **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:02 PM **

** but its probably also **

** important for her to hear **

** that theres more than one **

** side to connor… it might **

** help her move on to know **

** that he did care about her, **

** he just didnt know how to **

** show it, and his mental  **

** health was the thing that **

** made them grow apart, **

** not connor not caring **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 5:03 PM **

** Wow, Jared, I’m impressed. That’s actually **

** really insightful of you. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 5:05 PM **

** anytime, hansen.  **

** anyway i gotta go, moms **

** yelling at me to come help **

** her w dinner. ill text u **

** in the mornin **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 5:06 PM **

** Yeah, I’ll let you know how my doctor’s appointment **

** goes. See you tomorrow.  **

 

——

She’s diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, basically intense morning sickness. She’ll have to stick to a relatively bland diet, and the doctor recommends drinking things with ginger or peppermint in them to try to calm the nausea. If the vomiting persists at yesterday’s level, he warns her, then she’ll have to receive fluids through an IV so she doesn’t get too dehydrated. Evan hates needles and promises herself she’ll do everything she can to not let it get that bad.

 

They run tests to confirm she’s pregnant (as if Evan needed that anyway) and give her instructions for taking a lower dosage of Xanax. The doctor doesn’t think it’ll hurt the baby, since he’s had patients before who gave birth to healthy children while on small amounts of Xanax, but he wants to be careful and monitor her, he says. Evan just prays that the lesser dosage will be enough to keep her anxiety somewhat at bay — it’s obviously been off the charts as of late, but maybe with the stress of telling her mom about the pregnancy gone, she’ll feel a little better.

 

She doesn’t know why she cares so much. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to do yet. She’s still torn, not sure if she can handle an abortion but definitely wary about having the means to raise a child. Evan knows adoption is out of the running for her — she couldn’t carry something for nine months to just give it away, even if she’s allowed to visit every once and a while. It’s either going to be an abortion or a commitment to raising another human being for the next eighteen years of her life.

 

Evan’s scared of both options, honestly. 

 

She tries to talk it through, not just with herself, but with those around her. She and Zoe discuss it a little bit over Jared’s promised grape sodas at lunch the day of her appointment, but Evan suddenly can’t seem to get the word “abortion” out around Connor’s little sister, no matter how supportive she is. They drop the subject.

 

Jared doesn’t really get it, but he texts her later to let her know he’s here to discuss it if she so desires. Evan appreciates everything he’s done for her, but it’s still Jared Kleinman, the guy she’s been growing up with for over a decade now, and so she takes a hard pass on that one.

 

She and her mom mull both options over. A lot. Her mother promises they’ll find a way to pay for the baby if Evan decides to keep it, and Evan believes her, but — what would that cost them? Would her mom ever be home for even a minute? How many additional shifts would she have to pick up? Evan herself would probably have to drop out of school or hire a babysitter, neither of which really seem like a great idea.

 

But the thing with the abortion is, well. The more Evan thinks about it lately, the less she can bear to talk about it, or even say the word. She’s already kind of attached to the tiny sesame seed-sized thing raising hell in her stomach, and acknowledging the fact that this baby really is the last living remnant of Connor makes an abortion even harder to contemplate. And what would the Murphys say? They’d probably hate her for the rest of their lives.

 

Evan knows that shouldn’t influence her decision, but it still does, at least a little bit. She’s worried she’s not strong enough to bear the weight of all that guilt on her shoulders. It’d crush her. 

 

But, the money. An abortion will cost her $300 at least, since insurance won’t cover it. Raising this child will cost her hundreds of thousands of dollars.

 

She’s so, so torn. Should she be logical, or should she let emotion take the lead? Should she go with her heart, or with her head? 

 

On the Friday night exactly one week after her meeting with the Murphys, Evan’s sprawled across the sofa, contemplating just this, when she gets a text from Zoe.

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:45 PM **

** can i call you? **

 

She texts back an immediate _yes_ , and her phone’s ringing with an incoming call from Zoe in seconds. Evan picks up, hands suddenly gone slick around the smooth plastic of her phone.

 

“Hey,” she says.

 

“Hey.” Zoe sniffles, and Evan wonders if she’s been — no, no way she’s — 

 

“Zoe, have you been crying?” she asks, against her better judgement (but again, how great is that to begin with). 

 

Evan can practically hear Zoe shrugging on the other end. “I dunno,” she mumbles. Then she clears her throat, breath crackling in Evan’s ear, and speaks up. “Um, my mom wanted you to come over for dinner, but I told her that probably wasn’t a good idea after what happened Sunday. She wanted me to tell you something.” 

 

“Uh, s-sure.” Evan tries to sound as encouraging as possible. “What is it?” 

 

“I really don’t want this to influence your decision in any way, because like I said, it’s ultimately something that you’ll have to be okay with, but — ” Zoe exhales sharply, and it’s obvious by the strain in her voice how difficult this is for her. “My mom offered to pay for the baby,” she finally spits out.

 

“Oh.” Evan can feel a cold sweat breaking out all over her body. This is definitely not what she was expecting when Zoe called. 

 

“She said she’d cover your prenatal care, the medical expenses, clothing, furniture, equipment — you name it.” Zoe sounds a little bitter, actually, and Evan’s about to say something when Zoe goes, “Kind of funny she couldn’t show her own kid that kind of care, huh?”

 

“Zoe,” she says softly, but Zoe ignores it, keeps talking.

 

“Anyway, she just wanted you to keep that in mind. I guess now that Connor’s dead, she’s gonna put all her effort that she could’ve used on him into this baby. Which is cool, y’know? It’s not like it’s her fault that Connor didn’t get the right treatment. It’s not like it’s her fault that my relationship with my brother got destroyed because she was scared to push him too hard and put him through actual therapy, right? It’s not like it’s her fault that the most she felt like doing was to send him to fucking _yoga-based_ rehab and then ignore all the warning signs when he came back exactly the same.” Zoe laughs hollowly, and it’s the scariest sound Evan’s ever heard, especially coming from such a sweet, vivid girl. 

 

“Zoe, I’m sorry — ” Evan doesn’t get to finish her sentence before she hears muffled sobs break out through the phone. 

 

“Sorry, Evan. Sorry. I’m not mad at you or the baby, you know that, right?” Zoe hiccups. “I’m just frustrated with my parents, especially my mom. They never tried hard enough with Connor, and now my mom’s acting like this baby could be her saving grace, which — it’s obviously not right. I mean, we don’t even know if you’ll keep it. And obviously that’s your choice — ”

 

“Zoe,” Evan cuts her off as gently as possible. The younger girl is borderline hysterical. “I understand. I get why you’re frustrated with your mom. But maybe, maybe you should get some sleep, huh? You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise. A-and I’m gonna think on this, alright?” 

 

“Okay,” Zoe says, sounding very tired and very small. “Goodnight, Evan.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

Evan’s body doesn’t let her fall asleep until two, when the racing thoughts in her mind finally slow to a halt and that sweet black-edged drowsiness takes her away. 

 

——

She dreams of a baby, a happy, giggling, blue-eyed baby with wild curls and her mother’s smile. In the dream, she feels a hand on her shoulder as she stares down at the little thing, but she turns around only to find nothing there.

 

She swears that hand was Connor’s.

 

Evan wakes up knowing what she needs to do. Her mom’s at work, but she’s still the first person she calls.

 

“Mom,” she says, voice breaking. “I know what I need to do. I’ve made my decision.”

 

“And what’s that, sweetie?”

 

“I’m going to keep the baby.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't hate me for this ok. i know it probably seems like evan decided to keep the baby just because zoe told her that cynthia had said she'd pay for the baby, but really what that phone call did for evan was it showed her there's a way. she'll find a way to raise this baby. and she knows she couldn't live with aborting it; abortion is the right choice for millions of people, just not for evan. she already loves this child and deep down, she knows that.
> 
> also it's my headcanon that jared is in ap calc and ap english lit but just absolutely refuses to use proper grammar and spelling when texting, k
> 
> the love and support is so deeply appreciated. sending y'all my love <3 
> 
> xo,  
> L


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s a seventeen-year-old mess whose only friends are her mother and a guy who’s just nice to her for car insurance. Why would she expect anything better?
> 
> But something about the loneliness hits her in a different way tonight. Harder. Evan can’t quite place her finger on it, can’t really determine what’s making everything feel so heavy right now — maybe it’s the realization that she’ll spend her entire summer like this, too, since she can’t exactly be a park ranger with a broken arm, or maybe the knowledge that she won’t be eating till tomorrow, cuz there’s only expired milk and two-year-old Trader Joe’s dumplings in the fridge, and Evan doesn’t think she’s got the strength right now to confront a pizza delivery man.
> 
> Is Connor Murphy doing the same sad dance tonight?
> 
> And then Evan groans, throwing her good arm across her eyes dramatically, because now she gets it. It’s the thought of Connor that’s bothering her right now. Not the lack of dinner or the lack of friends. It’s him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i've been AWOL, guys. final days of school were pretty crazy. i'm still studying for a math final but i'll be free after monday, so woohoo for that.
> 
> tw: LOTS of talk of suicide
> 
> thanks for all the love. <3
> 
> xo,  
> L

** ten. **

_She_ _stares at the number scrawled across her cast for a good hour that night. The house is empty and silent, her mother off taking a final, the quiet hum of her laptop the only sound filling the room. Evan’s Friday evenings are usually spent like this — no raging house parties to go to or intensive academic summer camps to prep for, nothing like what Jared Kleinman or Alana Beck are probably doing right now. It used to bother her, back in the glorious, angst-filled days of freshman year, when her weekends consisted of staying in bed and crying over the fact that nobody ever invited her anywhere and probably never would — but Evan’s used to it now. She doesn’t expect her phone to buzz with a text, doesn’t wait for the doorbell to ring or a Facebook event notification to flash across her computer screen._

 

_She’s a seventeen-year-old mess whose only friends are her mother and a guy who’s just nice to her for car insurance. Why would she expect anything better?_

 

_But something about the loneliness hits her in a different way tonight. Harder. Evan can’t quite place her finger on it, can’t really determine what’s making everything feel so heavy right now — maybe it’s the realization that she’ll spend her entire summer like this, too, since she can’t exactly be a park ranger with a broken arm, or maybe the knowledge that she won’t be eating till tomorrow, cuz there’s only expired milk and two-year-old Trader Joe’s dumplings in the fridge, and Evan doesn’t think she’s got the strength right now to confront a pizza delivery man._

 

_Is Connor Murphy doing the same sad dance tonight?_

 

_And then Evan groans, throwing her good arm across her eyes dramatically, because now she gets it. It’s the thought of Connor that’s bothering her right now. Not the lack of dinner or the lack of friends. It’s_ him _._

 

_Because of what he said in the computer lab. Because of what he did._

 

_He’d told her that he’d been in the hospital for a couple weeks his freshman year and that nobody had come to see him. Had that been true? Had he just said that to make her feel better, taken pity on her infinite bumbling awkwardness and lied to comfort her or shut her up?_

 

_Evan can’t be sure. But there’s a part of her that believes him, earnestly and completely, and that part of her aches at the thought of Connor suffering through the same routine she’s known for years. Is he staring at the Domino’s website, hands shaking as he debates if he should place the order? Is he scrolling through his Instagram and wincing every time he sees a new photo from a party he never got the invitation to? Is he just sitting in his bed, the glow of his computer the only light in his dark room, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as Netflix asks him if he’s still watching?_

 

_Okay, if Evan’s being realistic — Connor probably doesn’t get nervous over ordering pizza. And he doesn’t really seem like an Instagram kind of guy (she can see him having a Tumblr, though). But still, Friday nights alone are like their own sort of death sentence in high school, and if Connor really was being truthful in the computer lab that afternoon, Evan bets he knows what it’s like._

_And if he knows what it’s like, and she does, too, maybe — maybe they can help each other._

 

_So she takes one hard look at the number on her cast, pulls out her phone, and starts to compose a new message._

 

_She doesn’t want another lonely Friday night._

 

——

They hold Connor’s funeral two weeks to the day of his suicide. Evan doesn’t own a black dress, so Zoe lets her borrow one. It’s a little tight around the stomach, especially as Evan’s starting to gain weight, but she still looks presentable, and Evan doesn’t really have the energy to care anyway. She’s exhausted before they even get to the funeral home.

 

It’s a small service, just the Murphys, Connor’s grandparents, Evan and her mom, and a smattering of assorted family friends. Jared shows up, too, but Evan’s grateful to see him for once. Somehow, it actually makes things a little easier, and Jared manages to keep the wisecracks to himself.

 

Evan asks for a moment alone before they take him away for the burial. The Murphysand family friends have already headed to their cars to drive to the cemetery, and her mom promises to wait in the lobby. 

 

It was an open casket funeral, so Evan’s been staring at the face that’s his, yet not quite his, for almost two hours now. In his coffin, Connor’s paler than he ever was in life, something Evan had never even thought to be possible. His curls are down at Zoe’s insistence, which Evan is thankful for — Larry had wanted them shorn off or at least tied away. He’s in a suit she’s never seen before, a dark navy color that would’ve looked nice on him alive.

 

And suddenly, she’s crying. Which is so fucking frustrating to her, because all she’s been _doing_ lately is crying. And it makes her feel weak and pathetic and dumb, but she can’t help it.

 

“I’m gonna miss you a lot, Con,” she whispers. “I wish you’d stayed. I wish you could’ve gotten to know the baby.” She takes his hand, and it’s limp and nothing like Connor’s, but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t care at all. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I hope you know how much you helped me. I— I don’t think you ever realized that you kept me alive for a while there.”

 

Snot’s pouring out of her nose now, and Evan wipes at it in what turns out to be a futile effort. “Um, I hope the baby looks like you,” she sniffles. “You were really f-fucking handsome, y’know? I hope he or she gets your curls, or—or maybe your eyes, they were nicer than mine are. God, I dunno. I’m sorry, Connor. I’m just sorry. I love you and I’m sorry.” 

 

She leans over, presses a kiss to his waxy cheek, then steps back, left arm gone numb, as the pallbearers enter the room. They close the coffin, and Evan lets herself pretend she’s not watching her entire world leave as they carry the casket outside.

 

If it weren’t for the wetness on her face, she’d almost believe her lie. 

 

——

Evan skips the reception, claiming nausea but really just unprepared to deal with the sad smiles and syrupy sympathies. She opts to stay in the car, windows rolled down, earbuds blasting Connor’s favorite Coldplay songs until her head hurts.

 

She’s just gotten through what must be her hundredth replay of “White Shadows” when her phone dings with a text from Zoe — she must’ve left early, too.

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 1:21 PM **

** mom asked me to **

** clean up connor’s **

** room after the funeral but i don’t  **

** think i can do this **

** alone honestly. **

** mind coming by?  **

 

Evan places a call.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Jared drops her off at the Murphys’ place. “Normally I’d make you pay for gas money,” he says, “but I owe you one for getting me out of that reception. God, that place was _dead_.” Evan winces, and Jared’s face falls when he realizes what he’s said. Evan catches a snippet of his profuse apologizing as she grabs her bag and shuts the car door behind her. 

 

Zoe’s already waiting for her at the door, hair thrown up in a messy bun, leggings replacing her skirt and blouse from earlier, mascara smudged underneath her eyes. She looks a lot like her mother, Evan thinks. “Thanks for coming,” Zoe says softly, extending out her arms and wrapping Evan in a hug. 

 

“Y-yeah, of course,” Evan says as they both pull back. 

 

Zoe eyes her dress and beaten flats, a frown tugging at her features. “You won’t be comfortable cleaning in that. Come in and sit for a sec, I’ll go check the laundry room and see if there’s anything in there you can wear, Mom just did a load this morning.” 

 

Evan’s barely been on the couch for a minute when Zoe returns, a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a baggy navy T-shirt folded in her arms. “This was all we had,” she informs her, sounding far more apologetic than necessary. “I guess Mom was just doing towels this morning.” 

 

Evan tells her not to worry about it, takes the clothes from Zoe’s hands, but drops the T-shirt in the process. She bends over to pick it up, but then she finds herself frozen, the shirt having unfolded and displaying its logo in the process.

 

It’s a Coldplay T-shirt.

 

Evan’s chest constricts. “These are Connor’s clothes,” she says, stupidly, mouth gone dry. Of course they’re Connor’s clothes. They’re Connor’s clothes that he’ll never wear again, because he _died_ — 

 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Evan, I’m so so sorry.” Zoe rushes to her side, snatches the T-shirt up like it’s going to burn a hole in the wood flooring. “I can find you something else, or I can do another load really quickly, it’s not a problem—”

 

Evan tries to force herself to breathe. _Anxiety’s not good for the baby_ , she reminds herself _, don’t be selfish and hurt the baby, they’re all you’ve got left._ She’s surprised when the technique actually works. 

 

“It’s okay, Zoe.” She holds out a hand for the T-shirt, sweatpants tucked between her elbow and her chest. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll—I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, right?”

 

“Right.” Zoe quickly plasters on as genuine a smile as she can, and Evan sees right through it, but she appreciates the effort. “Uh, the guest bathroom’s just down the hall, you can go change there. I’ll be in Connor’s room when you’re done.” 

 

——

The sweatpants basically swallow her whole — Connor was a _lot_ taller than her, and most human beings, really — and the T-shirt’s so big that she has to use a spare hair tie in the bathroom drawer to knot it up at the bottom, but. They smell like Connor, of earth and smoke, and Evan kind of has to wonder if Cynthia really washed them at all. She wouldn’t blame her for not having the strength to, though. Not if it would wash away Connor.

 

Anyway. The clothes aren’t that bad.

 

She meets Zoe in Connor’s room, which apparently needs to be dusted and organized. The EMTs and the Murphys had both knocked over a bunch of crap in their rush to save Connor’s life, Zoe tells her, a hardness in her voice that Evan hates to hear.

 

Zoe drags her amps in and plays Foster the People till the floors shake to try to distract them both from the disgusting depressiveness of their task.

 

Being so wholly surrounded by Connor is awful and heavy and just _sad_ , really fucking sad, and Evan swears she can feel her heart doing its best not to break with every beat. Even Mark Foster can’t drown out the sound of the quiet sobs that Zoe keeps trying to hide. 

 

After an hour and a half, in the middle of “Pumped Up Kicks”, Zoe declares it’s time for lunch and disappears downstairs to make some gluten-free pizza or whatever the fuck it is the Murphys eat on Monday afternoons. Evan’s alone with her thoughts now, a scary prospect, and so she focuses all her energy on organizing the top of Connor’s desk instead.

 

She accidentally knocks over a stack of Post-Its with the feather duster. “Shit,” she mutters, getting on her knees and crawling under the desk to grab them. 

 

She freezes when she finds an envelope instead.

 

An envelope with her name on it, _“Evan Hansen”_ written in that familiar loopy scrawl she knows to be Connor’s.

 

Her breath catches, and Evan’s shoving the letter into the pocket of the sweatpants before she even fully processes what she’s doing, just as Zoe walks into the room with a tray of Totino’s pizza rolls. “These probably aren’t the most nutritious snack for somebody trying to grow a human, but hey, today can be your cheat day — um, Evan, what are you doing down there?”

 

Evan scrambles onto her feet and slams the stack of Post-It notes onto the desk, suddenly panting for reasons she can’t quite explain. “Sorry,” she says breathlessly. “I’ve—I’ve gotta go, Zoe. Not feeling great. I-I’ll help you finish up another day. Could you give me a ride home, i-if that’s okay?” 

 

Zoe raises a brow, then shrugs. “Alright. You can take some pizza rolls for the road.” 

 

——

Her mom’s already at work when Evan gets home, but she sprints to her room anyway, slamming the door behind her like she’s not the only person there. She pulls the letter out of her pants with trembling hands, forcing herself to slow down and sit in a chair before she continues.

 

She blows the dust off the envelope and rips it open like a woman gone mad, bits of paper fluttering to the floor as she pulls out the envelope’s contents. 

 

Her arm goes numb when she realizes it’s a letter.

 

From Connor. To her.

 

_Fuck_ , the irony.

 

_**~~ Dear Evan Hansen ~~ ** _

_** Dear Evan, ** _

_** I guess if you’re reading this, then I’m probably dead. I’m not going to pretend like the thought of ** _

_** that makes me sad, because why would it? I’m better off dead. I let everybody down, I always  ** _

_** do, and that’s not fair to anyone. I’ll be happier dead. Everyone will be happier this way. ** _

 

_** I know you probably don’t believe that, though. So this is my weird, fucked-up way of telling you ** _

_** I’m sorry. Zoe and Dad hate me, so I don’t think they’ll really care, but ~~I don’t think I’d~~ ** _

~~_** completely screwed things up with you and my mom yet, so you guys are probably upset. ** _ ~~

~~_** Don’t be. It’s easier said than done, I know it sucks to have someone else telling you how you ** _ ~~

~~_** should feel, but please don’t be sad over me. I’m happier this way, Evan. I promise. Please tell ** _ ~~

~~_** my mom that.  ** _ ~~

 

_** Who am I kidding, I fucked things up with you, too. I left you back in August, didn’t respond to ** _

_** any of your texts or anything. I guess I should explain why now. Might as well, right? ** _

 

_** I heard you say “I love you”, after everything that happened, and I just couldn’t deal. ** _

_** So I left and I tried to cut you out of my life, because that was better for you anyway. You ** _

_** don’t  want me in your life, trust me. All I ever do is fuck up and hurt the people I care about, ** _

_** and I’ve seen the look in Zoe’s eyes after I’ve treated her like shit for the billionth time. ** _

_** I don’t ever want to see that look from you. And when you said you loved me, I knew we were ** _

_** way too close to that point. I’d never intentionally hurt you, but it was bound to happen. I’d ** _

_** get too high and get all paranoid, you’d get worried about me because you actually care, ** _

_** and then I’d yell at you or say something awful and I’d hurt you. And I couldn’t live with the idea of that, Evan. So I let you go, and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m sorry. ** _

 

~~_** At least cutting the cord on this fucking miserable life of mine will be pathetically easy in  ** _ ~~

~~_** comparison ** _ ~~

 

_** I’m sorry that my death is going to hurt you, probably, because you’re a good person and I ** _

_** never deserved you anyway, but please know it’s better for both of us in the end. I don’t ** _

_** have to put up with myself anymore, and you can move on and find someone actually ** _

_** worth your time. And my family can heal, too. Really, this is an act of charity, and we ** _

_** all know it if we’re being honest with ourselves. ** _

 

_** I hate to ask favors when I’ve been selfish enough already, but. Last wishes and all that. ** _

_** I didn’t have time to make a will or anything, so this’ll have to do. ** _

 

_** Please tell Zoe sorry for me. She was a really good sister, I’m the one who was bad. Don’t ** _

_** let her blame herself — even though she hates me now, she’s still going to find a way to feel ** _

_** guilty for something, I know her. So don’t let her do that, please. Tell her I love her.  ~~ She’s gonna ~~ ** _

~~_** go so fucking far, Ev, I know it. I don’t believe in an afterlife, but if there ends up being one, ** _ ~~

~~_** I hope I’ll get to see everything she ends up doing. Watch her cure cancer or some shit like that. ** _ ~~

~~_** She so could. I’m proud of her already. ** _ ~~

 

_** Tell my mom and dad sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to their expectations. They deserved ** _

_** a better son. ** _

 

_** And then there’s you, Evan. I already said I’m sorry, but I’ll say it again: I’m sorry. I’m so  ** _

_** fucking sorry. ** _

 

_** Life is hard, it’s so damn hard, but you deserve a chance to see its good parts. They’re out ** _

_** there. I found some of my best ones with you.  ~~ I sound like a fucking Hallmark card, shit— ~~ ** _

 

_** Find the good days where you can. White-knuckle your way through the bad days if you have to ** _

_** so you can get to them. I know you can do it.  ** _

 

_** You’re all the things I never could be. You’re unflinchingly kind, and you’re smart, and  ** _

_** hard-working, and  so loving, and you’re literally everything someone could want in a person. ** _

_** Please don’t forget that. Please don’t give up on yourself. ** _

__

_** I love you too. ** _

 

_** -Connor ** _

 

Her sobs turn into a scream.

 

He loved her too.

 

He loved her too, and he left. 


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never understood your obsession with that shit, Zo.” 
> 
> A tall, hoodie-clad figure steps into view, sunlight surrounding his curls like a halo, and Evan suddenly can’t move or breathe or even think. 
> 
> “Oh, hey, Connor,” Zoe says casually. Like the dead brother she buried two days ago hasn’t suddenly just reappeared in their high school courtyard. She and Jared exchange a glance, and they both grab their bags and leave, hurrying through the double doors into the school before Evan can even plead with them to stay.
> 
> There’s no one else out here. Now it’s just the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE it's ya girl with another chapter

** eleven. **

"Remind  me to never let you rope me into buying grape soda again,” Jared groans, dramatically pretending to retch as Zoe grins and starts to chug her purple can of Welch’s. They’re at lunch, two days after the funeral, and Evan’s been in kind of a fog for the past forty-eight hours, so Jared and Zoe have kicked up their usual banter and mischief a notch to make up for it. She wishes she could say it’s working. 

 

“I’ve never understood your obsession with that shit, Zo.” 

 

A tall, hoodie-clad figure steps into view, sunlight surrounding his curls like a halo, and Evan suddenly can’t move or breathe or even think. 

 

“Oh, hey, Connor,” Zoe says casually. Like the dead brother she buried two days ago hasn’t suddenly just reappeared in their high school courtyard. She and Jared exchange a glance, and they both grab their bags and leave, hurrying through the double doors into the school before Evan can even plead with them to stay.

 

There’s no one else out here. Now it’s just the two of them.

 

Evan remains frozen in her seat, fingers gone white where they clutch at the table. This can’t be real. She saw him Monday, he was cold and stiff and _gone_ , no way no way no way is he back — 

 

But no, he’s there, right there, the light emphasizing the little patch of brown in his right eye, and _what is this_. Connor’s wearing the black jeans and combat boots she last saw him in, that beat-up old messenger bag slung across his shoulder like always, and Evan forgets how to function as he grabs the seat across from her and takes a swig from Jared’s abandoned water bottle.

 

“You’re not real,” she says slowly. Black starts to dot the edges of her vision, and Evan relaxes slightly at the thought of making it all go away. “You’re not real,” she repeats, the black creeping in, Connor going fuzzy before her, “you’re not real you’re not real — ”

 

“ _Evan_.” Connor’s got her hand in his now, their fingers intertwined. The black retreats, and Evan wants to cry. 

 

“I’m real,” he tells her. 

 

He lets out a startled _“Jesus”_ when Evan wrenches her hand away.

 

“How could you do this?” she screams at him, standing up and cradling her hand like his touch has burned her. “You made me think you’d left! Do you know how awful that is, _huh_? I’m — I’m pregnant with your freaking child and you pretended to kill yourself? How the hell did you even pull off a fake funeral, Connor? I mean, _why_ — ”

 

He’s at her side in seconds, long legs enabling him to reach her in just a few short steps, and Evan finds herself sobbing into his shoulder as Connor pulls her into a hug. His hands are freezing like always, but the rest of him is warm and solid and _there_ , and Evan can’t believe how much she’s needed this, how much she’s missed everything about him. Now it’s just him holding her and the scent of earth and smoke filling her lungs and _god_ , she’ll never need to breathe again if Connor just stays with her.

 

When they finally break apart, Evan can’t help but reach out, traces the edges of his face with her fingers, thumbs brushing against his jaw because she can’t quite believe that he’s really here. “You’re real,” she breathes.

 

“I’m real,” Connor nods, dimple popping in his cheek as his lips quirk into a half-smile. He’s got her face in his hands now, too, like they both need to confirm the other’s there. Evan knows without a doubt that she could stay like this for the rest of her life.

 

They eventually have to sit down because Evan’s knees have started to go weak, and she really doesn’t want to fall on her ass in front of him. Even if she knows he probably wouldn’t judge. 

 

They stay that way for a few minutes, the chirping of the birds in the trees and their quiet breathing the only sounds. It’s music to Evan’s ears. She doesn’t know how she got this lucky, how she got Connor back, but she’s gonna be so good, she promises herself, she’s not going to mess things up this time around — 

 

Connor speaks up, interrupting her stream of thoughts. “We should probably talk,” he says, voice so gentle it makes Evan nearly crack in half. He takes her hand again, but this time, Evan doesn’t pull back. His skin is cool and dry against the overheated clamminess of her palm. _Thanks, anxiety._

 

“You’ve got to move on, Evan,” he tells her, a stray curl falling into his eyes. Evan wants to lean over and brush it back, but she doesn’t know if she should. “You — ” His voice breaks, and Connor looks away for a second, composing himself. Evan’s heart aches for him. “You need to heal,” he continues. “And you need to move past me. I can’t be with you, Ev, and I don’t want your heart to get stuck on someone who’s not there anymore.”

 

“W-wait, what?” she chokes out. “You’re _here_ , Connor, right now, why can’t we be together? You’re real, and I’m real, so why not? D-did I do something to make you want to leave?” 

 

Connor’s eyes are shining with tears, but Evan doesn’t have the strength to wipe them away. “I’m real right now, that’s true,” he says softly, “but this is just a dream, Evan. You’re gonna wake up soon, and I won’t be there in real life. I’m dead.”

 

All the air leaves Evan’s lungs in a singular rush. She swears the world is shattering around her. “But — ” She tries to string together a coherent sentence, but it’s like her ability to speak has disappeared completely. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she manages to blurt out, “Butyoupromisedyouwouldn’tleaveme.”

 

Connor just stares at her, and Evan thinks maybe he didn’t understand, so she emphasizes, “You promised you wouldn’t leave. In August. Remember? You told me you’d never leave me, Connor, you _promised_.”

 

He inhales sharply and squeezes her hand tightly. “You’re right,” he acknowledges. “I did promise you I wouldn’t leave. And I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have made a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. I was a _kid_ , Ev, we both were, mentally ill kids who couldn’t really make _promises_. So, uh. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

 

Evan’s shaking all over, all this nervous energy pent up inside of her, and tears are streaming down her cheeks as black starts to crawl into her peripheral vision again. “We don’t have much time,” Connor murmurs, glancing around. Maybe he sees the blackness, too. He stands up quickly, and then, before Evan realizes what’s happening, pulls her into a kiss. Evan melts into him, body practically humming at how right it feels to be with him, even though she tastes salt and knows they’re both crying.

 

He breaks apart underneath her fingertips as the blackness swallows them whole.

 

Evan wakes up calling his name. 

 

——

The weeks fly by, interspersed with dreams of Connor. Evan wishes she could sleep all the time, would do it if it meant she got to see Connor’s face that much longer. Dreaming is better than reality, anyway — anxiety’s got its ugly claws in her, the lowered dosage of Xanax not doing much of anything to help her these days. School is a lot to deal with, too. As she continues to gain weight and her clothes start getting snug, Evan knows she’s going to be showing soon. But she hasn’t told anyone yet — Zoe and Jared are still the only kids at school who know about her pregnancy, and Zoe’s been helping to keep Alana at bay, since apparently they’re acquaintances from jazz band (not that Alana has the time to play an instrument — she manages fundraising for them). Evan doesn’t think she has the strength to say anything. What’ll people say? They could call her a slut, make awful jokes about Connor, snicker about how the poor baby is gonna have a double dose of crazy from its mom and dad. Or they might play nice, whisper about how hard it must be for her, even try to throw her a fucking _baby shower_ (Evan shudders at the thought of that). 

 

She can’t decide what would be worse, the fake niceties or the honest cruelty. 

 

She’s four months along before she even has time to blink. 

 

December 11th marks three months since Connor’s suicide. Evan plans on staying home and crying over the tragic romance category of Netflix, and that’s exactly what she’s doing when Jared and Zoe show up.

 

She’s forty-five minutes in to _The Notebook_ when Zoe bursts into her room, jacketdusted with snow, a red-faced Jared on her heels. “Get up and get dressed. We’re going to Target,” she declares.

 

“Target?” 

 

“Yup. We’re going shopping for the baby.” Evan’s brow creases, and she contemplates staying in bed for a second, but then she takes one look at the murderous glare Zoe throws her way and decides she’d like to live to see Christmas. 

 

Thirty minutes later, they’re standing in the infant clothing section of Target.

 

“Can someone please tell me why I have to be here for this?” Jared whines, cleaning his glasses with the bottom of his button down shirt for the fiftieth time since they arrived. 

 

“Because you don’t have a fourth block, you have a car, and _my_ car has to stay at school until we’re done because my mom tracks its location and will know I’m skipping school,” Zoe replies smoothly, holding up a Batman onesie and examining it closely. “Aw, look, this is cute!” she says, turning to Evan and showing it to her.

 

Evan shrugs. “It’s gender-neutral, so, um, that’s a start?” she offers. She’s never really been a huge fan of superheroes, much to Jared’s intense horror (although he’s more of a Superman kind of guy anyway).

 

“I can’t understand for the life of me why you refuse to find out the gender of the baby,” Jared says, eyeing the onesie warily. “I mean, don’t you want to know if you’ve got eighteen years of manipulation and coldheartedness ahead of you, or just eighteen years of idiocy? Louis C.K. has always said —”

 

“It’s not up for debate, Jared,” Zoe interrupts. “Evan wants it to be a surprise, and we should respect that.” She hangs the onesie back on the rack and faces the two of them. “Now that you’ve brought up gender, though, I was thinking maybe we should go grab a name book? You’re gonna have to start a name list sooner or later.” She starts in the direction of the book aisle, and Jared and Evan follow mindlessly, winter boots squeaking against the tiled floors.

 

“Jesus, really? A _name book_?” Jared scoffs. “Naming it should be the easiest part — if it’s a boy, name it Connor, if it’s a girl, name it Cynthia. You’ll make his mom happy either way.” 

 

“Name who Connor?”

 

They all stop dead in their tracks, Evan nearly tripping into Jared, at the sound of the new voice. Evan’s almost scared to turn around and see who it is.

 

She does anyway. They all do.

 

Her heart sinks when she sees it’s Alana Beck, looking poised and perfect as usual in a dark purple peacoat, hair pulled back in a pretty braid. She’s holding a turquoise binder and a box of Ticonderoga pencils. _Fuck._

 

“Uh, my new little cousin, my mom’s sister just had a baby — ” Zoe rushes to cover up, but Alana shakes her head.

 

“No, I just heard Jared say that _Evan_ had to name someone.” Alana steps closer, and Evan gulps. She’s literally shaking in her boots. “Evan,” Alana says lowly, “are you pregnant?”

 

Jared swears softly, Zoe pinching him in an attempt to keep him quiet, and Evan can feel her face flushing, tears automatically beading at the corners of her eyes. “UmIdunnomaybe,” she mutters, all her words coming out at once, panic clawing at her veins. “Pleasedon’ttellanyone?” 

 

“It’s Connor’s baby, isn’t it?” Now there’s barely even a foot between them, and Evan feels _very_ uncomfortable. “I mean, why else would you name your child after him?” Alana’s eyes are bright, and Evan so badly wants to run away from this.

 

She knows she’s hyperventilating, and Zoe places a calming hand on her shoulder, stepping in between them. “Alana, please,” she says quietly. “Let’s not tell anyone about this.” 

 

Evan waits to hear the _no way, this is going all over Twitter, everyone’s going to want to start a gofundme for Connor Murphy’s tragic baby!_ and she winces, squeezing her eyes shut tight and automatically curling in on herself a little bit.

 

But it never comes. She opens her eyes to find Alana nodding. “Of course,” she says simply. “It’s her choice to tell people. I’d never decide that for her.”

 

And then, in what may be one of the weirdest moments of Evan’s life, Alana Beck walks away.

 

Like nothing ever happened at all. 

 

——

Evan publicly announces her pregnancy a few days later (as stupid as that sounds — what really is there to announce, she’s not Beyoncé or anything). She does it on Facebook. She doesn’t want to have to be scared of getting found out anymore.

 

Christmas comes and goes. Zoe buys her a book of children’s names derived from famous literature. They’d found Connor’s crumpled list of Top 10 favorite books after finishing up his room back in September, and Evan’s been thinking about giving the baby some kind of literary name. Her mom lets her get a Spotify subscription — her free trial expired a while ago — so she can listen to her favorite songs as many times as she wants. Jared even gets her something, a Star Wars maternity T-shirt that reads _“The force is strong with this one”_. 

 

Cynthia gives her Connor’s copy of _The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It was his favorite book, they both know that, and Connor’s scrawled little notes in the margins, has half of the thing highlighted and marked, most of the pages dogeared beyond belief. Cynthia explains to her through a tearful smile that she can read it to the baby, like she used to read books to Connor during her pregnancy, maybe jump-start his or her love of reading early.

 

Evan doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s her favorite gift.

 

She starts to think that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for clarification -- when evan started saying "you're not real", she was starting to control her dream and wake up, and this is why she starts seeing black at the edges of her vision and connor goes fuzzy. but connor pulls her back into it by claiming he is real, and so evan keeps dreaming. 
> 
> also i chose to not have alana spill the news of evan's pregnancy to the entire school because she has a good heart and i think that's a line she knows not to cross (yes, i'm aware that in the musical she *spoiler* posts connor's "suicide note" online, but i think that's something of a grayer area for her -- she feels like people could benefit from reading connor's "note", whereas in this story alana's well aware that no one would benefit from learning of evan's pregnancy). 
> 
> thank you for the love and support as always. now i'm off to do some more intense studying.
> 
> xo,  
> L


	12. twelve

** twelve. **

_Everything_ _is_ not _going to be okay._

 

_It’s been two hours since Evan texted Connor, and he still hasn’t responded._

 

_Maybe this was all a joke to him. Maybe he gave her the wrong number on purpose so she’d make a fool out of herself, have a stupid moment of hope and think she could actually find someone like her, a real_ friend _—_

 

_Evan’s anxious stream of thoughts slam to a halt when her phone buzzes._

 

_A text from Connor._

 

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 6:00 PM **

** Hi, I hope I have the right number. **

** Is this Connor Murphy? It’s Evan Hansen. **

** The girl whose cast you signed earlier. **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:05 PM **

** hey. yea this is connor.  **

** srry i didnt see this before. **

** whats up? **

 

 _How is she supposed to respond to that? “Oh, nothing much, just having a panic attack over my_ _inability to order pizza and also just spending the night by myself because I don’t_ _have any friends”? Yeah, Connor’ll_ love _that one._

 

** From: Evan Hansen  **

** 8:07 PM **

** Not much, just watching some **

** Netflix. What about you? **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:08 PM **

** same actually, what **

** show? **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:09 PM **

** Um, Unbreakable Kimmy **

** Schmidt _._ **

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:09 PM **

** never seen it. **

** im in the middle of a  **

** sense 8 binge rn. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:10 PM **

** Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt is great! **

** You seriously need to watch it. Add it **

** to your list! **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:10 PM **

** will do. have u ever seen **

** sense8? **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:11 PM **

** No, I haven’t. Should I  **

** watch it?  **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:12 PM **

** omg yes, yes u absolutely **

** should. netflix r dicks **

** for canceling it. **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:13 PM **

** id tell u to add it to ur list **

** but tbh im one of those **

** ppl who never gets around **

** to anything on their list so **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:14 PM **

** Haha, me too, honestly. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:15 PM **

** Wait, that means you’ll never  **

** actually get around to seeing **

** Kimmy Schmidt :( **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:16 PM **

** You’ll just have to come over and **

** watch it. **

 

_Evan regrets the text the moment she hits “Send”, hands instantly going sweaty._ _Shit, that was a bad idea, way too forward of her, Connor’s never going to want to_ _hang out with someone like her, what the hell was she thinking —_

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:17 PM **

** wait srsly? **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:18 PM **

** Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,  **

** just forget it **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:18 PM **

** no no that actually sounds **

** great, better than a night **

** at home w my asshole **

** family anyway **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:19 PM **

** Really? **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:19 PM **

** yeah **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:20 PM **

** We’ll have to figure out a time to **

** do it, then. **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:21 PM **

** well… how about rn **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:21 PM **

** Right now? **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:21 PM **

** i mean if u dont want to  **

** thats fine im alright w **

** finishing sense8 **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:22 PM **

** No, I want to! **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:23 PM **

** I mean, yeah, that sounds fun. **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:23 PM **

** cool. whats ur address? **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 8:24 PM **

** 3829 Pine Street. **

 

** From: Connor Murphy **

** 8:24 PM **

** see u in 10. **

 

_And so that’s how Connor Murphy ends up eating popcorn on her living room couch._

 

——

Cynthia Murphy has followed through on her promise to pay for everything (even though Evan and her mom try to pay for as much as the Murphys will allow), but Evan’s mom still decides to start picking up a couple of extra shifts at the hospital. It’s for the baby’s college fund, she claims. Evan fights her on it — this is exactly what she _didn’t_ want to happen when she decided to keep the baby — but her mother won’t listen. 

 

And so that’s how Cynthia ends up taking Evan to her doctor’s appointments.

 

It’s not a regular thing at first — just the occasional prenatal checkup here and there, on days when the doctor demands that an adult be present and Evan’s mom has a shift or a midterm she can’t get out of — but eventually it becomes a weekly occurrence, extending into Evan’s therapy sessions with Dr. Sherman. Evan’s happy that Cynthia’s willing to do all this for her, but she can’t help but feel a little guilty. She knows her mom is sad that she’s missing out on so much for work and school, and that hurts her heart to think about. 

 

She wishes her mom weren’t so freaking stubborn.

 

Evan doesn’t mean to do this, but she starts to actually _resent_ Cynthia a little bit. She’s always asked a lot of questions to begin with, but the woman’s desire for information seems to increase with every appointment she attends and every therapy session she sits in the waiting room for. She asks Evan how much weight she’s gained, texts her nearly hourly to see how she’s feeling, even gives her a daily _food log_ to complete (“We need to make sure the baby’s getting proper nutrition,” she claims). And it begins to feel like Cynthia is even pushing Heidi out of the way a little bit. They’ve started having Sunday dinners together, where the Murphys are either invited over to the Hansen household (a far more rare occasion, since Evan’s mom is usually too tired to cook or clean) or Evan and her mom head over to the Murphy home. During these dinners, Evan notices a pattern cropping up — when they’re discussing the baby or Evan’s pregnancy in general, Cynthia always ends up talking over her mother.

 

And there are days when Evan has appointments or sessions that Heidi _can_ take her to, but when Evan texts Cynthia to let her know she doesn’t need to come today, Cynthia begins to push back. _I’m the paternal grandmother, Evan,_ she writes on one such occasion. _I should be there too!_ Evan doesn’t have the strength to fight back — she swears every ounce of energy she has goes towards the development of the tiny human in her stomach, which is perfectly fine but still exhausting — but she can tell that it’s starting to wear on her mother.

 

And she hates that. Her mom is just as much of a rockstar as Cynthia Murphy, and she works her _ass_ off to try to provide for everyone. She deserves to take Evan to an appointment alone if she wants to, and she deserves to be able to speak without being interrupted.

 

Evan’s quiet irritation grows, and she finds her skin itching every time she gets a text from Cynthia. The Sunday dinners stop being as enjoyable as they once were, and even Zoe can see that something’s up. One unseasonably warm Sunday in January, she takes Evan aside and asks her what’s wrong.

 

Evan tells her that everything’s fine. It’s the first time she’s lied to Zoe since September, and she feels incredibly awful about it the moment the words cross her lips.

 

Zoe reads it in her eyes, and her shoulders slump the second she catches on, but she’s gracious enough to not say anything. 

 

The tension builds and builds, Evan practically crushed under the weight of it, until it all comes to a head at her 22-weeks checkup. 

 

Both Cynthia and Heidi have managed to make it today, and at first, everything is great. Evan does the usual pee-in-a-cup, vitals check, and ultrasound routine that she’s more than accustomed to by now. Everything’s fine, everybody’s okay, Cynthia is preoccupied with the latest Hollywood gossip on her iPhone and Evan’s mom is reading some generic doctor’s office magazine. 

 

Things go south when the doctor comes in sporting a frown.

 

“Now, I don’t want this to cause you any unnecessary stress, Miss Hansen,” he says, “because that’s not good for the baby. But it appears that the baby is developing a little more slowly than we’d like and is measuring a bit under what it should be right now. This is common with teen pregnancies, so we’ve dealt with this before and know how to treat it. I’m recommending bed rest and an appointment with a nutritional expert to ensure the baby is getting everything it needs to grow as big and strong as possible.”

 

Blood pounds in Evan’s ears, and all she can do is stare at the doctor, who is looking increasingly worried. _This is your fault_ , that nagging little voice in the back of her head sings. _It’s your fault. You’re going to be an awful mother. Your baby is going to die, this is all your fault, you’re so stupid and selfish, you should have_ never _eaten that burger, what were you thinking Evan Hansen you dumb bitch_ — 

 

“Evan!” She’s jolted out of her thoughts as her mother shakes her lightly by the shoulders. “It’s okay, honey, the baby’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. You’ll just have to take it easy. It’s not your fault.”

 

Still, she feels numb and stiff and awful as the three of them walk out of the doctor’s appointment, her mother shoving the referral to the nutritionist into her worn Coach purse, Cynthia somehow managing to walk and Google at the same time without tripping. As they reach the 2004 Honda Pilot that Heidi’s been driving for as long as Evan can remember, Cynthia gives her a hug that Evan _really_ doesn’t want right now and lingers for a moment, going over details of the appointment that only she seems to recall. 

 

“Are you still keeping up with that food diary, Evan?” Cynthia asks. “You should show it to the nutritionist — I found one in Trenton, she’s got five stars on Yelp, seems like a really amazing woman —”

 

“I don’t think we can make the drive to Trenton, Cynthia,” Evan’s mother says politely, “not with my schedule — ”

 

“Well, I’ll take her,” Cynthia cuts in, barreling right over everything Heidi Hansen has to say, and suddenly, Evan. Just. _Snaps_.

 

“Mom, get in the car, please,” she grits out.

 

“What? Evan, we’re in the middle of a conversation — ”

 

“ _Please_.” Her voice is raw and edged with desperation now, and her mother falls silent. She waves goodbye to Cynthia and climbs into the driver’s seat of the Pilot, closing the door behind her with a solid-sounding _thunk_.

 

Cynthia’s eyes keep darting from Evan to Heidi in the Pilot to the sky and then back to Evan, and she’s obviously nervous but Evan doesn’t care. Just sees red. Wonders if this is maybe how Connor used to feel when he’d snap.

 

“I understand you want to be in the baby’s life, and I am so thankful for everything you’re doing for me, but you are d-driving me _crazy_ ,” Evan hisses. “You ask so many questions and it’s _overwhelming_ , alright? I—I can’t deal with twenty questions a minute, and I’m not going to keep a freaking food journal! And you don’t get to push my mom out of the way, okay? She works a lot and I know she’s never around but she’s doing her _best_ and she deserves to be a part of this as much as you do.” She sniffles. “I just need some space,” she adds, quieter this time.

 

Any trace of anxiety has disappeared from Cynthia’s features, instead replaced by a cold stare that gives Evan the feeling of déjà-vu. Her lips are puckered, eyes narrowed, and there’s nothing but ice in her voice as she says, “After all I’ve done for you, Evan? You’re just going to push me out of your life like this?” Her voice grows louder with every word as she continues. “You are carrying the last remnant of my _son_ , of course I want to be involved, and as long as I’m paying the bills, I don’t see why that’s a problem.” 

 

“Well, it _is_ a problem, Mrs. Murphy, because you are _too much_!” Evan isn’t trying to shout, but it happens anyway, and she can see her mother flinching from the car, hand hovering over the door handle as she debates whether to intervene. 

 

“ _Evan_ ,” Cynthia gasps, and Evan’s mother moves to get out of the car, but Evan’s one step ahead of her, storming over to the passenger side and yanking on the handle, which doesn’t budge. The car must’ve automatically locked when her mom got in, and Heidi scrambles to unlock it as Cynthia catches up with Evan.

 

“Don’t do this, Evan.” Evan’s never heard Cynthia Murphy beg before, but this sudden rage that’s developed in her doesn’t care about that.

 

She slams the door in her face. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh conflict!!!! 
> 
> & yes evan totally lives on pine street, the girl is obsessed w trees it was destiny y'all
> 
> i live for connor's texting style, i truly feel like he'd be a blast to message with he's just so chill over text
> 
> sorry this chapter is pretty short but tomorrow finals hell will be over and then i can get back to my usual annoying wordiness
> 
> thanks for all the love and support! <3
> 
> xo,  
> L


	13. thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attack, lots of self-hatred and blaming

** thirteen. **

Yelling  at Cynthia Murphy turns out to be one of the biggest regrets of Evan’s life (not _the_ biggest, though, because nothing can top letting Connor walk out of the computer lab that awful day) when she immediately becomes a giant ball of guilt. Her mind can’t even wait to scream at her for it until she gets home — no, the panic attack starts in her mother’s Honda Pilot, just as they’re turning onto Pine Street. 

 

Seventeen years of being an anxiety-ridden mess (and four years of being clinically diagnosed as one) has thankfully taught Evan how to hide the smaller attacks from her mother, at least for brief periods of time, and Evan manages to do just that, breathing a “ _I’mtiredgonnanapokay_ ” her mom’s way as she rushes through the front door and into her bedroom, turning the lock behind her. There’s a no-locked-doors policy in the Hansen household, officially, but unofficially, Evan does it anyway sometimes when she can feel herself getting bad. When she needs to just scream or sob or maybe both into her pillow and not have her mom come barging in. When she needs to be as alone as possible so she can deal with the bad thoughts in some way. When she just needs to know she’s got privacy. She figures if she ever gets caught, she’ll just claim she was about to change.

 

She’s in the midst of a pitiful attempt to breathe normally when her phone buzzes with a text. Evan automatically winces when she sees it’s from Zoe. _She’s probably going to tell you she doesn’t want to be friends with you anymore_ , the nasty little voice in her head taunts. _Who would want to be friends with such a colossal loser bitch anyway? You’re an awful person, you yelled at her mother when she was just trying to help you_ — 

 

Vision going fuzzy, Evan manages to get her chest loose enough to suck down one big gulp of air, and she relaxes enough to find the strength to unlock her phone and read Zoe’s text. 

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 5:30 PM **

** are you okay? mom **

** just got home. she **

** said you guys had a **

** fight.  **

 

Evan’s stomach twists as a pang of guilt stabs at her chest. Even with how Evan’s probably hurt her today, Cynthia was still nice enough to call Evan’s temper tantrum a “fight” — that implies mutual irrationality, gives the impression that the both of them had contributed to a disagreement, when really it’s all just her fault.

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 5:32 PM **

** Yes, I’m fine. And it wasn’t a fight. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen  **

** 5:33 PM **

** I yelled at your mom. I’m a bad **

** person. I’m sorry. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 5:33 PM **

** evan, what the **

** fuck?! you’re not a **

** bad person, you’re **

** one of the best  **

** people i know. **

** and so what if you **

** yelled? everybody  **

** has bad days. my **

** mom’s probably  **

** been super over- **

** bearing lately,  **

** a lesser person  **

** would’ve snapped **

** by now. it’s okay,  **

** evan. don’t worry **

** about it.  **

 

Evan doesn’t respond to her message. 

 

——

She gets up on time to go to school the next morning, but her mom stops her as she’s putting a bagel in the toaster oven. “Honey,” she says kindly, “you’re not going to school anymore. Bed rest, remember? Go back to sleep. I’ve got a conference with your guidance counselor at 10.”

 

So that’s a thing now. 

 

Sorta-kinda-homeschool is actually pretty good at first. There’s no added stress of dealing with sneers or jibes in the hallways, no societal expectations or pressure from the high school hierarchy to deal with. Evan doesn’t have to come home exhausted from seven hours of mandatory peer interaction five days a week anymore, which is awesome (especially since she’s exhausted enough already). Her mom picks up her tests and quizzes at the beginning of the week, Zoe or Jared (or, if she’s lucky, sometimes both of them) will bring by notes, classwork, and homework assignments every other day or so. She gets to sleep in as late as she wants and doesn’t have any deadline harder than “due at the end of the week”. It’s nice.

 

Once she hits five weeks of homeschooling, though, it starts to feel less nice and more isolating. Because she can’t help but think — her peers are eating greasy cafeteria food and going to soccer games (soccer’s basically a _religion_ at her school) and hitting up parties every weekend, and she’s just. Alone. Pregnant and tired and alone. And Evan’s always been different from her peers, the anxiety made sure of that, but this is just _too_ different, a new level of difference that she doesn’t know if she can handle. A lot of the time, it feels like too much to bear.

 

Seeing Zoe and Jared helps, but then they eventually leave (not that Evan wouldn’t want them to, she knows they’ve got lives of their own) and she’s reminded that they’ve got concerts and parties and games, things to attend and places to be that Evan will never be invited to because she’s the loner pregnant freak who can’t even go to school anymore. And it feels awful. Absolutely _awful_.

 

She stops taking her Xanax, because what good is it even doing at this point? It’s not like it’s helping her, and if that’s one more potentially-harmful thing she’s not putting into the baby’s system, then it’s better for everyone involved anyway. 

 

When she hits the seven-week mark since her “fight” with Cynthia and still hasn’t apologized, Evan realizes just how awkward things have been with Zoe lately. She’s a good friend — she still drops off her notes and any homework that Evan might need, still texts her daily to see how she’s doing — but she never stays for long, always gets calls from her mother that leave her pulling out of Evan’s driveway shortly after. Evan knows that Cynthia probably hates her now — even though the doctor’s office claims her prenatal checkups are still being billed to the Murphys, a kindness she’d assumed would be pulled after her blow-up — and so she tells herself, what good would apologizing do? The Murphys see her for what she really is now: an idiotic, anxious, selfish freak who isn’t worthy of their time. An apology won’t change that. It’ll probably just make them hate her more.

 

She starts to shut people out. She informs Zoe she doesn’t need to come by anymore, that she can get all of her schoolwork from Jared and that she knows Zoe’s busy anyway with jazz band practice. Zoe protests, but Evan insists.

 

It’s better this way, she tells herself.

 

She asks Jared to just email her the schoolwork and notes. She convinces him that it’s easier like that, so she doesn’t have to type everything up, so she doesn’t have to worry about losing paper copies. No need to drop off anything.

 

It’s better this way, she tells herself.

 

She shoots down their requests to hang out, ignores the majority of their texts, only answers enough so as not to worry them. When they ring the doorbell, she pretends to be asleep or not there. _They don’t understand_ , she thinks. _They don’t realize that they don’t really want to be friends with me. They’re better off without me. I’m not a good person. They deserve better._

 

It’s better this way, she tells herself. 

 

Her life consists solely of schoolwork, Netflix, and doctor’s appointments. Dr. Sherman keeps asking her how she feels, how she’s doing, if she feels like she’s _“under a lot of pressure”_ and tries to tell her how normal that’d be, but Evan’s become a master of deception by now. She smiles her way through the therapy sessions, white-knuckles her way through the day, even if some small part of her is growing increasingly worried. 

 

She’s had, for lack of a better term, “episodes” like this before. Freshman year, when she’d first really grasped how crushingly alone she was, she’d slept twelve hours a day for two months straight during the summer and refused to leave her room. Her mom had dragged her to Dr. Sherman, who promptly diagnosed her with depression and prescribed her Lexapro along with her usual Xanax. She’d stopped taking it when the school year started up again, and everything seemed fine. One medication was enough, she didn’t need to be taking two, right? 

 

She started feeling that same inability to deal with life in general halfway through her sophomore year. This time, her mother had picked up additional shifts at the hospital and was at work enough that Evan managed to hide her symptoms until the fog in her brain lifted and she was back to her “normal” (like _normal_ was a thing for her) self. 

 

It’s happened a couple times since then, but Evan’s always hid it before, and she knows she can hide it now. She can’t take Lexapro while she’s pregnant — what if it harms the baby? She’ll be fine. She can’t be so damn weak all the time, anyway. She’ll be fine. Everything’s okay. 

 

The end of the third quarter of the school year starts to approach as March comes to a close. Evan is sure that if she can just get through these last few weeks, spring break at the beginning of April will be exactly what she needs to recharge and get back on her proverbial feet. She’ll be alright.

 

The Friday before the quarter ends, she decides to check her grades, something she hasn’t done in far too long (it always leaves her feeling panicked). It’s not like she’ll be going to college, so she doesn’t really know why she suddenly cares, but —

 

_Holy shit_. Holy fucking shit. She’s got a D in AP Environmental Science, a C in English, and Bs in her two other classes.

 

The C she can live with — her mom’s never been one to yell over grades — but a _D_? In environmental science? That’s supposed to be the one thing she’s good at, the one thing she can depend on. What does she even have going for her if she sucks at the one subject she loves?

 

The walls suddenly feel like they’re collapsing in on her, pain slicing at Evan’s hands as she realizes she’s digging her nails into her palms in an effort to stay calm. It’s no use — her heart slams against her ribcage, breathing gone shallow and fast, the weight of the millions of ways she’s fucked up these past few months heavy on her chest. Everything is so _hot_ , her face burning, sweat beading on her forehead as she struggles for air, the coolness of the tears streaming down her cheeks doing nothing to help. She can’t breathe, she can’t breathe she can’t breathe and she’s being _smothered oh god she’s gonna die_ — 

 

She doesn’t know how long the panic attack lasts. All she knows is that when she eventually comes to, she feels worse than she ever has before. She’s a failure. She’s a failure and she’s fucked up with school, she’s fucked up with the Murphys, she’s fucked up with everyone. 

 

Her mom’s working the graveyard shift tonight. Evan’s thankful for that for the first time in her life.

 

That way, she’s not there to hear the additional attacks that come that night.

 

——

It is 2:34 AM on a Saturday, and Evan somehow finds herself in the Murphys’ front yard.

 

Her feet have blisters from where her crappy Walmart tennis shoes rubbed against them on the five-mile walk there. Her doctor is probably going to kill her if he ever finds out she’s done this — it’s like the antithesis of bedrest. She is sweaty and red-faced, teary-eyed and gross, but she doesn’t care.

 

It’s been almost two months since her explosion at Cynthia, she is seven months pregnant with the child of a dead boy, and she has nothing left to lose. Everyone hates her — she’s decided that it makes no difference if they hate her a little more for this.

 

She has to apologize. Has to try to make things right before the guilt kills her. 

 

She rings their doorbell ten, twenty times in a row, panting and desperate. She doesn’t really know where this is going, doesn’t know why her feet have taken her here, is starting to wonder what purpose apologizing will really serve when everybody knows how despicable she is already. This is selfish, isn’t it, just a way to clear her non-existent conscience — 

 

Larry Murphy answers the door, hair sticking up in fifty different directions and circles under his eyes. He looks extremely irritated, but something in his face softens when he sees it’s Evan on his doorstep. “Evan? What are you doing here?” he asks groggily. The door’s open wide enough that Evan can see inside, and she flinches as a light switches on upstairs. Great, she’s woken up the entire household.

 

“I—I’m sorry, Mr. Murphy, n-never mind — ” She turns to go, but a hand on her shoulder stops her.

 

“No, Evan. Stay,” Cynthia Murphy murmurs. Evan’s eyes widen at the sight of the older woman, normally so composed, in a fluffy bathrobe and slippers. “Please, come in,” Cynthia adds.

 

Evan follows the two of them inside, suddenly gone mute. She can hear Zoe upstairs, shouting down a question about who was at the door, and Larry shouting back at her to go to sleep. It’s a strangely normal interaction, quite possibly the most normal exchange she’s seen between Zoe and her dad, and she wonders if they’re only able to be this normal again because she’s been so absent as of late.

 

Maybe they’re better off without her in their lives.

 

Cynthia lets out a yawn as they settle at the kitchen table, and Larry goes to put on a pot of tea. Evan’s never seen them drink tea before, only black coffee, and again she wonders if they’ve made this change in their lives because of something she’s done. Cynthia _was_ there when the doctor lectured her that one time on how coffee should only be consumed in moderation — 

 

She shakes her head, trying to clear the thoughts away. _Focus, Evan,_ she tells herself. _You’re here to apologize. So do it already._

 

“I’m sorry, M-Mrs. Murphy,” she stammers out, tears already springing to her eyes. She wipes them away furiously with the back of her hand, determined to stay on track and not be quite as pathetic as usual. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, I-I’m sorry for p-pushing you away, I’m sorry f-for _everything_. Y-you deserve better, you’re a really n-nice person, and I’m sorry you got s-stuck with me.” She sniffles, the urge to sob only growing stronger when the dim kitchen lighting reflects on the shining wetness of Cynthia’s eyes. “You know, m-maybe your lives would be better without me in it. Th-they probably would be, a-and I’m sorry you have to deal with me. I-I’m just _messed up_ , okay? I’m j-just a bunch of broken parts that people try to fix but never can, because I’m — I’m just a _failure_ of a person! And I, I try to pretend that I’m s-something better than that, but it’s all a _lie_ , alright? A-and now you know, and I’m _sorry_.”

 

Images flash before her eyes, recollections of Connor and summer, orchards and ice cream parlors, and her brain throws her into a memory before she can even try to struggle against it. 

 

_“I’m sorry, Connor,” she’s crying into his shoulder, the scent of earth and smoke filling her lungs, “I’m just b-broken, okay, the kind you can’t fix, and you shouldn’t have to p-put up with that. F-fuck, you should just leave.”_

 

_Connor huffs a laugh against her ear at the way she stumbles over the curse, then presses her tighter against him, his arms wrapped in a firm embrace around her. “Look at me, Evan,” he says softly. She prays there’s not too much snot pouring out of her nose and pulls back a little, enough so that she can look up at Connor, and she shivers as his hands cup her face, tilting it up so they’re eye-to-eye. His eyes are so blue, that one spot of brown so warm, it feels like they’re burning into her. “Maybe you’re a little broken, but who the hell isn’t?” he says fiercely, letting go of her face to gesture to himself. “Look at me. I’m broken. We’re all kind of broken. But that doesn’t mean we need fixing, and that doesn’t mean we’re not worth it. If anyone’s worth it, Ev, it’s you. So I’m not going to leave. Not now. Not ever.”_

 

_Evan can’t help but giggle a bit at that last part. “You totally stole that from 13 Reasons Why,” she accuses._

 

_Connor rolls his eyes. “So? Shitty show, but the point’s still the same.” He grows serious again. “Seriously, though, Evan — I won’t leave you. Ever,” he insists, reaching down to grab her hands. He knows her too well — his touch always soothes her._

 

_“Promise?” she says._

 

_Connor squeezes her hands tightly. “Promise.”_

 

Evan’s jolted back into reality by the sound of her own crying, Cynthia looking at her with concern written all over her features. She doesn’t understand why Connor’s mother looks so worried until she hears footsteps clambering down the stairs and realizes she’s been loud enough to make Zoe come downstairs. _Shit_.

 

“Evan,” Cynthia says gently, “you should know that I’m sorry, too. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way I acted, and it wasn’t appropriate at all. Things have just been hard, with Connor…” She trails off, voice gone thick at Connor’s name, but quickly straightens up, instantly composing herself in a way Evan wishes she could replicate. “It’s obviously no excuse, but I think I was trying to fill a void with you. I was trying to be like another mother for you, a stand-in mother, and that’s not right, I’m not trying to say it was, but — I think I was just trying to do for you what I can’t do for Connor anymore. And I was invasive and overbearing and pushy, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

 

Evan’s vaguely aware that she’s nodding, mumbling something out about _yesyesofcourseIforgiveyouohmygod_ , but she’s crying so hard she really can’t even talk or breathe that well, and she’s forced to suck in little gasps of air when she can, and she’s kind of clutching at the tablecloth and suddenly Zoe’s by her side, saying something to her that Evan can’t quite make out, and _holy fuck_ is this another panic attack please she’s so exhausted no more — 

 

Cynthia kneels next to her, cell phone in hand, and dials her mom’s cell. Evan tries to protest that she doesn’t have to, that she’ll be okay, but Cynthia shakes her head. “Sometimes you just need your mom, sweetie,” she tells her, smile sad and small, “your _real_ mom. Not a stand-in one.” 

 

——

Her mom is at the Murphys’ house in thirty minutes. Evan’s better for the most part, now basically just gulping down as much water as she can, and Zoe’s been talking to her for a while to distract her as much as possible. Heidi still breaks the speed limit driving the two of them home, though.

 

“What happened, Ev?” her mom says quietly, the two of them curled up on the sofa, blanket draped over her shoulders, rubbing Evan’s back with one hand and holding a mug of coffee with the other. 

 

“I just was feeling s-so bad,” she hiccups, “a-and I went to the Murphys’ house to apologize. A-and I apologized to Mrs. Murphy, and t-then she apologized to me, a-and I was just thinking — I d-don’t _deserve_ her apology. And I just started worrying, l-like I always do, because — ” She breaks off, and her mother squeezes at her shoulder.

 

“Because what, honey?” 

 

“I’m gonna mess the baby up, Mom, right?” Evan says hoarsely, voice cracking. “Because that’s what I do. That’s what I’m good at. I—I mess people up because _I’m_ messed up.” 

 

“ _Evan_ ,” her mother gasps, leaning forward and wrapping her in her arms. “No, baby. No. That’s not true at all, sweetheart.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Evan whispers.

 

“ _No_ , Evan.” Her mother pulls back, locking eyes with her, and repeats, “No. It’s not. You’re the light of so many people’s lives, honey, I don’t think you realize. The Murphys love you, Jared loves you, I love you. You’re not messed up, and you don’t mess anyone else up, either. You have your struggles — we all do — but that does not take away from how amazing you are, not in the _least_. And you’ve gotta realize that, sweetie. Promise me you’ll try.”

 

And all Evan can think is _“we were both mentally ill kids who couldn’t really make promises”_ , Connor’s words ringing in her ears, but she goes ahead anyway.

 

“Okay, Mom. I-I promise I’ll try.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened to "green eyes" by coldplay while writing this and totally didn't tear up during the flashback with connor (even tho he has blue eyes) haha nope because i'm a BIG GIRL
> 
> jk i'm a wuss
> 
> also let's pretend that "1965" by zella day doesn't make me think of connor and evan's summer together for some reason ok ESPECIALLY THE "can we go back to the world we had/with a love so sweet it makes me sad" PART i'm not emotional no way
> 
> & finally bc i'm on a music tangent everyone should listen to "slowly" by susanne sundfør it is an absolute masterpiece and parts of it do give me connor/evan vibes just sayin'
> 
> oh also sidenote bc i feel like this is important for people to recognize: when evan's talking at the end about how she "messes people up", she's not only referencing how she upset cynthia and upset her mom (when she hid the truth about being pregnant from her), but she's also talking about connor. a part of her still believes that she contributed directly to connor's suicide, and that bothers her more than she lets on.
> 
> OH and additional sidenote: i tried to have parts of evan's apology to cynthia parallel some lines from "words fail" from the musical, talking about her broken parts and such. 
> 
> sorry for all the angst this chapter. what can i say, it's my specialty. don't worry tho, happier times are ahead.
> 
> as always, thank you for the love and support. your comments keep me going <3
> 
> xo,  
> L


	14. fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky is that brilliant shade of blue you only see in paintings, the kind of blue that Evan thinks of when she sees Connor’s eyes. The clouds are white, shaped like puffs of cotton candy, and the sun is warm on her skin, but the afternoon heat is offset by the slight breeze in the air. There’s honeysuckle somewhere nearby, she can smell it, and the giant apple trees that dot the horizon are the stuff of most botanists’ dreams. 
> 
> It’s a perfect day, even with the sweaty, itchy cast on her left arm, only made more perfect by the fact that she’s spending it with Connor Murphy.
> 
> Yeah, that’s a sentence Evan would’ve never pictured herself saying a month ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood mention, talk of self-doubt/suicide/anxiety/depression

** fourteen. **

"Hi,  Evan. How are you?” 

 

She’s sitting in Dr. Sherman’s office just over forty-eight hours after what Evan can only describe as a breakdown of epic proportions, the doctor having graciously penciled her in for an emergency session, and she honestly doesn’t know how to respond to that. Should she be truthful, tell him how crappy she’s been feeling, and risk getting put on freaking suicide watch or something equally as awful and scaring the crap out of her mom? Or should she slip back into the comfort of lying, even though it’ll make her conscience cringe and her gut twist and her heart ache because that’s the very thing she’s supposed to _not_ be doing? She’s already broken her promise to Zoe enough, she wants to be _better_ now.

 

Evan decides on an in-between method — a diluted version of the truth. Not exactly a lie, true enough to not be breaking her promise to Zoe, but certainly not 100% honest. “N-not the greatest,” she says, wincing internally when Dr. Sherman raises a thick gray brow at that. She distracts herself by picking at a loose thread in the fabric of the chair, trying to pretend her therapist doesn’t seem totally suspicious of her already.

 

“Why’s that?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat. Evan knows this trick — it’s so he seems more engaged, more interested in what she’s got to say. It’s never fooled her before, and she wonders how many patients it would actually convince if Dr. Sherman’s other actions didn’t prove that he genuinely cares.

 

“Um, well — ” She stops, forces herself to breathe because talking about the heavy stuff always seems to interfere with that. “I-I’ve just been pretty lonely,” she admits. “Being homeschooled has been hard, i-it’s weird to see all my friends doing stuff that I can’t, and also…” Evan takes another deep breath, in awe of how the weight on her shoulders seems to lift so much already with what she’s told Dr. Sherman. “I, um, I feel guilty.”

 

“Guilty about what, Evan?” Dr. Sherman says kindly, pausing from his furious scribble of notes to take a moment to meet her eyes. She’s relieved to find nothing but an earnest desire to help there.

 

“C-Connor.” She looks away, the rush of feelings she gets from speaking his name so intense that her eyes instinctively fill with tears, tears she’d rather hide than discuss. 

 

Dr. Sherman is expensive for a reason, though, and he picks up on it instantly, wordlessly plucking a tissue from the wooden box on his desk and offering it to her. Evan accepts it gratefully, mumbling a thank-you his way. 

 

“Why do you feel guilty about Connor?” 

 

The tissue is soft against the dampness underneath her eyes, and Evan tries to focus on that instead of the building pressure in her chest at her therapist’s question. “The last time I saw him, he — he got really mad at me,” she says quietly. “He’d accidentally read one of my letters to myself, a-and he thought I’d only been friends with him before because of Zoe. How am I supposed to know that wasn’t the last straw, t-t-the thing that drove him to kill himself? I-I think it was. I mean, who _wouldn’t_ feel awful after reading something like that—” She cuts herself off, sensing the way her voice has gone all thick. She really doesn’t want to use up all of Dr. Sherman’s Kleenex in one visit.

 

Dr. Sherman sets down his pen and clears his throat. “Evan. Please look at me.” She does as he asks, hiding her hands under her thighs to hide how badly they’re shaking. “If there’s one thing I want you to walk away from this session knowing, it’s that you are in no way responsible for Connor Murphy’s death,” he says firmly. “He chose to take his own life, and I can assure you that his suicide was the product of severe mental illness and many years of suffering without proper treatment. You played no part in his ultimate decision to end his life, I can promise you that.”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Evan sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue again. 

 

“He was my patient for a brief time. He didn’t stay in therapy much longer than two months, but from the time I spent with him, I can assure you that you are not the reason why he decided to commit suicide.” Dr. Sherman’s brow creases, and he seems to get lost in thought for a moment before he adds, “I wasn’t really supposed to tell you that, but I wanted you to know, Evan. So you don’t blame yourself anymore.”

 

Evan shifts in her chair, one of her hands absentmindedly settling over her stomach, and she almost grins when she feels the baby kick at her. “Thank you. That — that does help.”

 

“I’m glad.” Dr. Sherman opens up his notepad again, clicking his pen back into action, and resumes his normal routine of questioning. “So your mom mentioned to me when she called that you expressed a fear that you would ‘mess up’ the baby — can we talk about that a little?”

 

Evan nods, the feel of the baby’s feet beneath her palm giving her a strength she hadn’t known she needed. “I just worry a lot about it — like, what if I pass on my anxiety? Or w-what if I start to f-freak out one day, and something happens?” She trails off, images of her worst fears flashing before her eyes and causing her heart to slam against her ribcage. Her hands start to shake again. “I just want to be a good mom,” she murmurs, staring at her stomach. _Jesus_ , she’s gotten big — though that’s probably to be expected of someone who’s almost eight months pregnant. 

 

“Evan, I have several patients suffering from anxiety or depression — sometimes even both — who have children and are wonderful parents,” Dr. Sherman says soothingly. “And after working with you for four years, I’d like to think that I know you pretty well. You have a kind heart and a generous spirit, and I have no doubt that you will be an excellent mother to your child." 

 

And it’s not like it’s the first time Evan’s heard some version of those words — but today’s the first time she actually kind of believes them.

 

She leaves Dr. Sherman’s office with a smile.

 

——

_The sky is that brilliant shade of blue you only see in paintings, the kind of blue that Evan thinks of when she sees Connor’s eyes. The clouds are white, shaped like puffs of cotton candy, and the sun is warm on her skin, but the afternoon heat is offset by the slight breeze in the air. There’s honeysuckle somewhere nearby, she can smell it, and the giant apple trees that dot the horizon are the stuff of most botanists’ dreams._

 

_It’s a perfect day, even with the sweaty, itchy cast on her left arm, only made more perfect by the fact that she’s spending it with Connor Murphy._

 

_Yeah,_ that’s _a sentence Evan would’ve never pictured herself saying a month ago._

 

_It’s the first Friday after July 4th, but Connor’s parents are still out of town visiting his dad’s sick mother, Zoe’s spending the weekend with some girls from jazz band, and Evan’s mom, of course, is at work. He’d texted her this morning asking if she wanted to go somewhere special. Evan hadn't even taken a second to breathe before responding with a resounding “yes” (she’d then spent the next five minutes worrying she’d come off as overeager, but thankfully, Connor hadn’t seemed to mind)._

 

_On the drive over, they’d managed to hit every red light, and so Connor had plenty of time to explain where they were going. Their destination was the old Autumn Smiles Orchard, he’d told her, one of his favorite spots from his childhood. He’d come here with his family all the time as a little boy, and Evan could see the way his eyes shone with happiness at the memories as he recounted tales of picnics with Zoe and his parents, adventures with a toy plane that his dad had accidentally crashed into a river, entire days taken up by games of hide-and-seek amongst the big apple trees with his little sister. They’d stopped coming when Connor turned eleven, he’d said, when his parents had decided they simply didn’t have the time to make the forty-five minute drive anymore._

 

_Evan wonders if they’d still have made that decision if they knew how much it meant to Connor._

 

_The orchard had closed shortly after, in 2012, but Connor admitted that he’d occasionally “break in” — if crawling through the giant hole in the rusted fence could qualify as breaking in — whenever he needed a moment alone from whatever craziness was going on at home. The moment Connor’s beat-up sedan had pulled up to the orchard, Evan had understood why — dilapidated sign, rotting apples, overgrown grass and all, it was still a place of beauty. It had an air of serenity to it, and it just_ called _to her._

 

_Her mind has never been this still, her heart never so calm, her conscience never so at peace._

 

_They sit in the grass, talking about nothing, for hours. Evan is confident (and isn’t that a concept) that this is what real happiness must feel like._

 

_They start chatting about prom, somehow, the two of them imagining what it must be like, since neither of them have ever been — they both missed junior prom this year for various reasons, Evan because she didn’t have the courage to ask anyone, Connor because his sister had been going and he hadn’t wanted to interfere with her fun._

 

_“Maybe I’ll go next year,” Evan says, letting out a contented sigh as a ray of sun hits her cheek. “I’m gonna have a hard time finding a dress, though, I know that sounds so petty but I really want it to be blue, and not just like_ any _shade of blue but like the perfect kind of blue, like how the sky looks right now, maybe that’s dumb, it probably is, but yeah.” She’s babbling, she’s aware that she is, but for once, she doesn’t care. By now, she knows Connor certainly doesn’t._

 

_“That’s not dumb.” Evan has no clue how Connor’s not boiling right now, even with the breeze — he’s dressed in all black as per usual and hasn’t even attempted to shed his hoodie, still has the sleeves pulled all the way down. “I think if I were to go to prom, I’d wear a smoking jacket,” Connor continues, twirling a blade of grass back and forth between his index finger and his thumb. “A black velvet one, and with one of those big droopy ties — I dunno what they’re called. It’d be awesome though. My dad would definitely be pissed.” He rolls on his side so he and Evan are face-to-face, and she can’t help but grin at the small smile on his face — Connor’s happiness, however brief, is infectious._

 

_Evan’s heart aches when the smile disappears from Connor’s features, though, and her stomach twists as Connor rolls back over, blade of grass falling to the ground as his hands drop to his sides. “I guess it doesn’t matter, though,” he mutters. “I’m not gonna make it to prom anyway.”_

 

_“W-wait, what?” Evan pulls herself up into a sitting position in seconds, her heart beginning to pound at Connor’s words. “What do you mean, not making it to prom, Connor? Are you — ” She doesn’t finish her sentence, chest going tight as they both fill in the blanks._

 

_Connor stands up, refusing to meet her eyes. “Forget about it, Hansen,” he says quietly. She can’t quite read the expression on his face, but the way he’s avoiding all eye contact has her nervous, anxiety digging its claws into her system as a cloud blocks the sunlight and she starts to shiver. She knows this kind of behavior all too well — it’s like watching a playback of a conversation with her mom around the time she’d broken her arm._

 

_Connor’s hiding something. And Evan knows he definitely hadn’t intended for her to hear those words._

 

_“Connor, please, you can tell me — ” She reaches for his arm, but he jerks away from her touch and storms off, shoving his hands in his pockets. Evan can physically feel her heart cracking in two at his reaction._

 

_“C-Connor, wait!” she calls out, sprinting after him. His legs are so long, and one step for him is like three steps for her, and Friday nights consistently spent at home watching Netflix certainly haven’t helped her lack of athleticism, but Evan manages to catch up to him after a bit, panting and all._

 

_“P-please tell me that didn’t mean what I think it did,” she breathes, doubling over as the exhaustion hits her and she starts to cough (courtesy of her mild asthma and the inhaler she hasn’t refilled in months)._

 

_“I—” Connor’s voice catches, and Evan’s eyes widen when she sees blood dripping onto the grass and realizes he’s digging his nails into his palms._

 

_“Connor, stop!” She’s at his side in seconds, grabbing his hand and forcing it to uncurl, fingers stroking gently across the red half-moons he’s carved into his skin. Connor flinches but doesn’t push her away, even when she intertwines their fingers and looks up at him._

 

_He finally meets her gaze, and Evan could cry at the sheer pain clouding those beautiful blue eyes._

 

_“I don’t want to lie to you, Evan,” Connor says hoarsely._

 

_“S-so don’t. Please don’t.”_

 

_“You were right. About what I said. It, uh, meant what you thought it did.” His voice cracks, and Evan squeezes his hand gently, hoping the gesture comforts him the way it’s always comforted her. “I want to die 95% of the time. I’m suicidal, Evan, and I’m a lost cause, let’s be honest. I’m usually either angry or just numb I guess, and I lash out all the time, and that’s why my sister hates me, and you really shouldn’t even waste your time with me — ”_

 

_“Connor.” They’re both taken aback by how firm Evan sounds, no trace of a stutter to be heard. “You’re not a lost cause.” He starts to argue with her, but she doesn’t let him. “You’re_ not _. Because I don’t think you’d ever call me a lost cause, but if you’re calling yourself a lost cause because of that, then you’re automatically calling me a lost cause, too.”_

 

_“You’re — ” Connor can’t seem to find the words, his eyes searching hers for answers, and Evan gives him a sad smile._

 

_“How do you think I broke my arm?”_

 

_Evan’s never seen Connor look unsure before, but he’s the epitome of uncertainty right now, mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a fish out of water, hand icy cold in hers. Finally, he manages to stammer out, “But I — I thought you fell.”_

 

_“I’m not_ that _clumsy.” She forces out a laugh, but there’s nothing real to it, and a heavy look of understanding settles across Connor’s features. This time, he’s the one squeezing her hand, and Evan can’t help the small hum of happiness that escapes her lips._

 

_“My point is, if you wouldn’t call me a lost cause, then you can’t dare to call yourself one either. Because we’re_ not _lost causes, Connor. Maybe we've taken a couple of wrong turns, ended up somewhere a little off the beaten path, but we’re not totally lost. We’ll get through this,” she tells him, surprised when her voice doesn’t shake. “_ You’ll _get through this. And I’ll help you. If you want.”_

 

_Connor nods, unshed tears shining in his eyes, and Evan wants to hug him so badly, wrap him in her arms and make him doubly sure that everything’s going to be okay, but she’s not sure if she should. Not sure if he’d want that._

 

_“You said you want to die 95% of the time. Well, focus on the 5% of the time when you don’t,” she adds. “Think about it — who are you with? What are you doing? Where are you?”_

 

_“My 5% is with you,” Connor says softly, and Evan’s suddenly all too aware of the feel of his fingers in hers. “When we’re hanging out. In your room, or here, or wherever, really. I forget that I want to die when I’m with you.”_

 

_And his words are so bittersweet, so fucking bittersweet that Evan almost chokes, but it’s not even that that bothers her the most._

 

_It’s the way her heart flutters at what he’s said. The way that her brain automatically goes,_ Funny, I was about to say the same thing. _The way that she can picture the two of them, a year from now, healthy and happy and on the cusp of college, coming to this orchard with smiles on their faces and leaving the exact same way. The way that she instinctively wants to make sure she never sees tears in his eyes again, not unless they’re tears of joy._

 

_And, well. Shit. This is a hell of a mess, because. Because —_

 

_Because Evan thinks she might just be falling in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've actually made a playlist on my personal spotify for this fic, so lemme know if that's something y'all would be interested in. if it is, just comment below and i'll make a post on my tumblr and share the link here. feat. bastille, susanne sundfør, coldplay, ed sheeran, and more!!
> 
> i've finally got the rest of this fic planned out which is an absolute miracle tbh. i'd say we've got ~4 chapters left. i'm excited but also sad about that. (but don't worry, coming after this is a pure!AU in which connor does not die and he and evan raise the baby together. it won't be a full, fleshed-out fic, just an assortment of one-shots, but i'm looking forward to it.) 
> 
> dr. sherman is a pretty awesome dude not gonna lie. oh, and if you're annoyed by the fact that he asks so many questions, i actually made it that way on purpose -- he focuses on cognitive therapy, and as such he's not really supposed to lead evan to a way she might feel when he's talking to her (i.e., he can't go, "so would you say that connor's death has made you feel guilty, evan?" or "and would it be safe to say that makes you angry?"), he has to wait for her to tell him how she feels and then deal with the unhealthy thinking patterns that might be causing some of those negative emotions, hence the possibly-annoying line of questioning. he's a cool guy who really cares about all of his patients and genuinely will do whatever he can to help, though, so don't hate him. he's been good to evan and he'll continue to be an important source of support in her life.
> 
> thank you for all the love!!! your comments really do keep me going. i'm so happy to have y'all as readers -- you're truly the best.
> 
> xo,  
> L


	15. fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything else might be pretty much perfect, but Alana Beck is still a problem.
> 
> Evan knows she has good intentions. She knows the other girl just wants to do Connor right, and in Alana’s world, starting school clubs and spreading awareness about depression and suicide is the way to do that. Zoe’s told her a million times what a kind heart Alana has and how much she really cares about her community.
> 
> She still can’t help but get a little irritated when her Facebook notifications flash with a message from Alana, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: talk of suicide and method used, mention of self-harm

** fifteen. **

For  the first time in a long time, Evan starts to feel like her life is actually improving. Her sessions with Dr. Sherman leave her a little less unburdened with every visit, a little more open to communicating her feelings and sharing her thoughts with the people around her, and that’s a gift Evan doesn’t know how she could possibly even try to repay. She reaches back out to Zoe and Jared, apologizes for distancing herself over the past few months (they’re nothing but gracious about it and tell her they’ve probably treated her far worse before, though Evan knows that’s certainly not true), and they start up a system. Evan and Jared help Zoe with her classes — not like the girl needs much help, she’s pretty much a genius, but she does struggle a bit in biology, Evan’s area of expertise, and calculus, Jared’s all-time favorite subject -- and in return, Zoe and Jared help Evan with her homeschooling. By the end of April, she’s actually managed to get her grades up to all A’s and B’s again — she’s even turned her D in AP Environmental Science into a solid A that she couldn’t be more proud of — and the course load doesn’t feel nearly as unmanageable as it had before. She’s even in Honor Roll territory for the fourth quarter. 

 

School’s not the only area of Evan’s life that improves. Her friendship with Zoe and Jared grows stronger than ever; they come over almost every afternoon now, though Zoe’s often a bit late due to intense daily jazz band practices in preparation for graduation in June, and they’re working their way through Evan’s list on Netflix, slowly but surely.

 

Jared’s still as much of a wiseass as ever, but he’s worked to be a little kinder with it. Evan’s proud to say that she hasn’t heard him say a single rude thing about Connor in five months. Back in September, Jared might’ve just been her Family Friend™ who only tolerated her for car insurance, but now she knows their friendship is so much more than that. She doesn’t have a weekly word limit, and she’s not obligated to report their every interaction to her mom. They’re just buddies who play video games and discuss the faults of society together, and Evan is so grateful for that. She hopes Jared knows his friendship is worth so much more than a $200 car insurance payment (although she thinks she made that pretty clear in the rambling thank-you note she’d sent him after he spent an entire Saturday helping her assemble some fancy IKEA furniture Cynthia had bought for the baby).

 

And Zoe, oh _god_ there aren’t enough ways to describe how amazing Zoe has been. She’s not only been a great source of support and help, but she’s balanced all of this craziness effortlessly, even in the midst of her junior year, which Evan knows from first-hand experience to be the most killer part of high school. Zoe’s a force of nature, quite honestly, and incredible in that she works just as hard to forgive Connor as she does to ace her AP US History exam. That’s one of the many wonderful things about her — when Zoe Murphy decides something is worth her time, she puts her _all_ into it. Half-heartedness is a foreign concept to her — she’s either in something all the way or absolutely not into it, and that’s why it’s so special when Zoe chooses to put her effort into something important to you: because you know she’ll put 105% into it. Both Evan and the baby are causes that Zoe deems important to her, and Evan’s so beyond grateful for that — not only because it’s allowed her to get to know Zoe, a girl who was once a total enigma to her, but also because it’s left Evan convinced that Zoe’s going to be the best aunt her baby could ever hope for. There may not be many certainties in this ever-changing world, but Evan can be certain of one thing: her child will not go unloved, not if Zoe Murphy has anything to say about it. She’s already so dedicated — she came over just the other weekend, spent an entire Friday night narrowing down a list of names with Evan, even though she’d been invited to a jazz band party (even Evan is well-aware that the band kids throw crazy ragers, and maybe Zoe’s not a rager kind of girl, but Alana Beck had said she’d be there, and Zoe’s got a major crush on her).Zoe had given up a night of fun, exchanged it for a night of baby name books and greasy Domino’s pizza that _she’d_ had to order — and yet she’d left sporting the kind of insanely large grin that normally only Alana could provoke in her.

 

Connor’s parents have been wonderful, too. Cynthia’s managed to find the sweet spot with her helpfulness, a middle ground between being overbearing and uninvolved. Even Larry’s pitched in — after Cynthia and Evan’s mom took her furniture shopping for the baby, Larry had put together the crib and moved in some of the heavier pieces. Cynthia’s confessed to her that her husband is hoping to buy a new baseball glove — he wants to teach the kid all about baseball when they’re older. Evan can tell they’ve started to heal, that preparing for the baby has helped them find some peace in Connor’s death. She’s happy for them.

 

Evan’s own mother is incredible as well — Evan can’t thank her enough for the extra shifts she’s taken on. She works harder than anyone else Evan’s ever known, and she’s actually on track to obtain her bachelor’s degree in paralegal studies in December. Evan is so proud of her. 

 

She recognizes that the Connor-sized hole in her heart will never be completely filled, but. Having these people, these actual beacons of light in her life — it’s a start. 

 

And at least she knows that with them, this child will never feel alone like she and Connor once did. This baby will be loved and supported endlessly.

 

And Evan’s just thankful. Really, really thankful.

 

——

Everything else might be pretty much perfect, but Alana Beck is still a problem.

 

Evan knows she has good intentions. She knows the other girl just wants to do Connor right, and in Alana’s world, starting school clubs and spreading awareness about depression and suicide is the way to do that. Zoe’s told her a million times what a kind heart Alana has and how much she really cares about her community.

 

She still can’t help but get a little irritated when her Facebook notifications flash with a message from Alana, though.

 

** Alana Beck **

** Apr 23rd, 3:45 PM **

** Hi Evan! Hope you and the baby **

** are both doing well — Zoe tells me you’re due **

** in a couple of weeks, how exciting! I just wanted **

** to give you an update on The Connor Project. **

** Unfortunately my application for a 501(c) was **

** denied, but I’ve decided to go ahead and  **

** start up The Connor Project as a club at **

** our school. My hope is that we can establish **

** chapters all over the country and get Connor  **

** and his death the national attention he  **

** deserves. I also wanted to let you know **

** that I’ve had to temporarily remove you **

** as Vice President of The Connor Project, **

** since you’ve been on bedrest and won’t be able to **

** come to any meetings for the foreseeable  **

** future. However, I’m still seeking your input! **

** I’ve attached a copy of The Connor Project’s **

** mission statement — please give it a read **

** and let me know what you think. There’s **

** also a copy of The Connor Project’s goals **

** for the next year attached, but if you don’t **

** feel like reading it all, it basically just outlines **

** our goal to pay for a renovation of the school **

** auditorium and rename it in Connor’s name. **

** Can’t wait to hear your input! Wishing **

** you and the baby the best! **

** Sincerely, **

** Alana Beck **

 

Evan takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and clicks on the Word document Alana’s attached. A mix of anger and frustration simmers just underneath her skin as she reads through the mission statement. 

 

_The Connor Project, established in October of 2017 by high school senior Alana Beck of Rochester, New York, works to prevent teen suicide by spreading the story of Alana’s friend, 17-year-old Connor Murphy. After struggling with bullying and depression, Connor tragically committed suicide on September 11th, 2017, forever changing the lives of those who loved him and devastating his community. It is The Connor Project’s mission to ensure that no other teen out there feels alone or forgotten like Connor did. The Connor Project aims to do this by sharing Connor’s story with teens across the nation and performing acts of charity in local communities through regional chapters all over America._

 

Evan slams the laptop shut. This is exactly everything she _didn’t_ want The Connor Project to be — entirely focused on Connor’s suicide, this “story” that Alana so desperately wants to share. She claims to be his friend, but where was she when he was getting bullied in the hallway? Where was she when he was sneaking off during fourth block to go get high? Where was she when he was slicing himself open just to feel something? Where was she when he was pouring the contents of that pill bottle down his throat?

 

_Where was she?_ Because if she wasn’t there then, there’s no way she can use Connor’s death as a way to pad her fucking resumé now. And it’s true that none of them were there enough, not when they needed to be, and there’s a million different things Evan should’ve, could’ve, _would’ve_ done if she’d known any better, but — This almost seems like exploitation. And Alana’s not going to do that to Connor. Not if Evan’s got anything to say about it.

 

At that thought, she opens her laptop back up. She considers replying with an angry rant. She even types it all out, but doesn’t have the guts to press send. Then she deletes it all and considers ghosting the other girl, simply not responding at all. Or she could block her, never have to hear from Alana Beck again. Evan’s cursor is actually hovering over the “Unfriend” button when Zoe comes skipping into her room.

 

“Hey, Evan! It’s _so_ gorgeous outside, I know you probably aren’t feeling up to a walk but we could at least study at the park — ” Zoe stops dead in her tracks, skidding to a halt as she reaches Evan’s desk. “What are you doing?” she asks, hair brushing Evan’s shoulder as she leans over to peer at the computer screen.

 

“Alana messaged me about The Connor Project again,” Evan explains, turning around in her chair to face Zoe. It’s a bit of a struggle with how huge her stomach’s gotten, but she manages to do it.

 

“Oh.” A shadow crosses Zoe’s face, smile dissipating instantaneously at Evan’s words. “Weird, I just saw her at practice and she didn’t say anything to me about it. Can I see?”

 

Evan nods, twisting back around to her laptop and clicking a couple times before Alana’s message is displayed across the screen. Zoe takes a minute to read it, and Evan can see her brow creasing, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips as Evan then clicks away to show her the mission statement.

 

After a couple minutes of silence, Zoe lets out a small huff, cool breath hitting the back of Evan’s neck and giving her goosebumps. “She’s mentioned making The Connor Project a thing at school a couple of times before, but I never thought she was really serious about it,” she admits. “My mistake — I should've known that Lana’s never _not_ serious.” 

 

“Lana?” Evan raises a brow at the unfamiliar name, and the younger girl blushes, cheeks going bright pink.

 

“Alana. Sorry.” Evan’s never seen Zoe so uncomfortable before, and it’s kind of a funny sight — she can’t help but chuckle as Zoe flushes a deeper shade of rose, bordering on tomato red, and glares at her. “ _Anyway_ ,” Zoe says pointedly, “what’s your thought process right now?”

 

“Huh?” Evan’s brow wrinkles, and Zoe pretends to roll her eyes and sigh dramatically. 

 

“I mean, what are you thinking?” she asks, abandoning her place at Evan’s side to perch on the edge of her bed. “I can tell you’re definitely brooding over _something_ — I can read your anxiety from a mile away, you’re playing with the bottom of your shirt like you always do when you’re on edge. What’s bugging you?”

 

“I just…” Evan exhales sharply, hand drifting from the touchpad of her laptop to her stomach, the comforting kick of the baby serving to calm her rocketing pulse. “I—I don’t feel like it’s true to what Connor would have wanted. I know I didn’t know him for super long, but I just can’t see him cheering at the idea of a club whose sole purpose is to tell every teen out there about someone’s suicide. And I also just worry that everyone who was awful to him will just join the club for brownie points or college apps. Is The Connor Project really serving its intended purpose if its only members are people who only care about looking good?” 

 

“Yeah. I get what you mean.” Zoe bites her lip, eyes going a little unfocused as her mind travels somewhere else for a second. Evan allows her a second to think, spinning around her chair so she can face the other girl without twisting or turning. After a brief period of quiet, Zoe seems to come back to reality, her body giving a little jolt as she becomes fully present in the moment. “Sorry,” she says. “Spaced out for a second there. But yeah, I get what you’re saying. The way that Alana’s written this, it does kind of come off as exploiting Connor a bit. Which I’m sure she didn’t mean to do, but. Yeah. And it also just bothers me a little because I have a hard time going along with the idea that Connor is being treated like a saint in this? Yes, his death was sad, but he wasn’t perfect. And a lot of the stuff he did was shitty, and _he_ was sometimes shitty. So to just paint him as this tragic little boy who ‘ _devastated a community_ ’? I don’t know about that.” 

 

“But at the end of the day,” Zoe continues, pushing back a strand of hair that’s fallen into her face, “Alana has really good intentions, Evan. She just doesn’t always know how to carry out those good intentions properly, which sucks because I know she’d never want to hurt anyone on purpose. And I think if we were to explain to her why The Connor Project is a little problematic right now, and maybe give her some suggestions to improve it, she might listen and change it for the better. If it’s done right, The Connor Project could actually be really helpful to a lot of people.”

 

“Y-yeah.” Evan can’t help but think, _If we’d had a Connor Project before all this, would Connor still be here? Could he have been helped by something like this?_

 

“God, I’m gonna sound like my mom here, but — I know the way Lana’s been handling this is really frustrating. And a _lot_ of things about Connor’s death are frustrating. The Connor Project could give us a way to channel that frustration into something productive, though,” Zoe says eagerly, a newfound determination shining in her eyes. Evan suddenly understands why she and Alana get along so well. 

 

“Actually, you don’t sound just like your mom — you sound just like Alana,” Evan teases, the mood in the room considerably lightened, and Zoe rolls her eyes for real this time, face turning pink again.

 

“Well, we have been hanging out a lot, so that might be why.” Zoe’s pure snark, grinning ridiculously at Evan and flopping backwards on the bed, one of Evan’s assorted decorative pillows (gifts from Cynthia — eight months ago, Evan would never have purchased pillows that couldn’t be used to sleep on) hugged to her chest. 

 

“Sure, Zoe,” Evan laughs. “We can talk about that later — can you help me write this response?” 

 

Zoe’s at her side in a heartbeat. Just like always.

 

——

It takes them two hours and an entire thermos of coffee on Zoe’s part (apparently jazz band practice is more exhausting than Evan had realized), but they finally compose what they hope is the perfect reply to Alana’s message. They’re both tired, eyes sore and strained from staring at Evan’s computer screen for so long, but Evan still scans it over one last time before pressing send, checking for any typos she might’ve missed.

 

** Evan Hansen **

** Apr 23rd, 5:55 PM **

** Hey Alana. I got your message **

** and I read through your mission **

** statement. It’s awesome that **

** you’re so dedicated to The Connor **

** Project, and I know both Zoe **

** and I really appreciate all the effort **

** you’re putting into it. I do have a couple **

** of suggestions, though. First of all, **

** in the mission statement, you kind of make **

** it seem like The Connor Project is more about **

** sharing the story of Connor’s suicide than anything  **

** else. If I’m being honest, I don’t think Connor would **

** have wanted that. I also think people will have an **

** easier time connecting to your mission if you don’t **

** solely make it about Connor — not everybody can **

** connect to a 17-year-old loner, but everybody can **

** find themselves in a cause dedicated to fighting **

** bullying and preventing suicide, you know? So I  **

** would really love for you to make The Connor Project **

** less about just Connor and more about suicide prevention **

** and bullying awareness in general.  **

** Also, while it’s a really sweet idea to renovate the **

** auditorium and rename it for Connor, the truth is  **

** that this school made him pretty miserable. So **

** I’d like to suggest something that Zoe and I both **

** feel is truer to who he really was as a person (and **

** will probably cost you far less). I don’t know if **

** you’ve ever heard of the old Autumn Smiles **

** apple orchard — it closed down a couple years **

** ago — but Connor loved that place as a kid. It’s **

** been abandoned now, and I’m sure you could get **

** the land for really cheap. I can’t think of a better way **

** to honor Connor’s memory than to renovate the old **

** orchard, plant new trees, spruce it up and open **

** it up to the world. The orchard wouldn’t just be **

** a way to remember Connor — it’d serve as a safe **

** place for kids like him and kids like us, or anyone **

** who just needs somewhere to escape it all. **

** Anyway, those are just my suggestions. I guess **

** let me know what you think? **

** -Evan **

 

Evan takes a deep breath and hits “send” before she starts to overthink it. Next to her, Zoe claps loudly. “Only took us forever, but we got it done,” she says. “Can we please order in a pizza now? I’m starving, and I kind of told my parents I was sleeping over here tonight so I wouldn’t have to endure another night of gluten-free crap.” 

 

“Sure — ” Evan’s cut off by the sound of her computer _ping_ ing.

 

It’s Alana. 

 

“Jesus, that girl has lightning fingers,” Zoe says, seemingly in awe as Evan pulls up Facebook.

 

** Alana Beck **

** Apr 23rd, 5:57 PM **

** Hi Evan, thank you for your **

** prompt response! I really **

** appreciate it. Your suggestions **

** sound great — I hope I didn’t offend **

** you or Zoe (she’s pretty awesome) with my **

** earlier ideas. Of course I want to respect **

** Connor’s memory — he was an acquaintance **

** of mine, after all.  **

** I’ll have to do some calculations  **

** and look into the cost of the orchard, **

** but that certainly sounds a lot more  **

** affordable. Perhaps after the baby is born, **

** you, Zoe, and I can meet up to discuss **

** fundraising ideas? I’ve done some reflecting, **

** and I don’t think it’s right for you to be left out **

** of The Connor Project. Of course, I want Zoe to **

** be involved as well. I’m excited for us to work  **

** together! I think The Connor Project has a great **

** future ahead of it. **

** Sincerely, **

** Alana **

 

Evan’s grin is so wide she worries it might split her face in two, and Zoe’s smiling too as they exchange a high five. “We did it!” Zoe cheers, doing a little spin. Evan hasn’t seen her this excited in a while over anything but the baby.

 

“We did it,” she agrees. “Now you just need to ask her out.” 

 

And even though Zoe shoots her the death glare to end all death glares, Evan totally doesn’t regret saying it.

 

Cuz Zoe deserves her chance at love, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zoe and evan hanging out is one of my favorite things ever honestly. and happy evan is what i'm here for!!! 
> 
> also, yay galaxy girls!!!! zoe and alana are so great, just you wait and see
> 
> i really care about alana beck, she's trying her best guys ok (also there may or may not be an in-person appearance from alana next chapter??? perhaps??? so if ur an alana fan might wanna stick around for that just sayin')
> 
> we've got about 3 more chapters left after this. sad to be winding down on this awesome ride, but happy to give my babies some resolution finally. and then we can move on to pure!au and all recover together from this angsty trashpile of a fic
> 
> thank you for the love and support as always. much much love to you guys
> 
> xo,  
> L


	16. sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evan is a bit whiny in this chapter. poor bby tho when you'll see why i don't think you'll blame her

** sixteen. **

Evan  Hansen is absolutely fucking _miserable_.

 

It’s May 12th and she is exactly one week overdue. The baby was supposed to come on May 5th, but, according to her doctor, “it’s completely normal for first-time mothers to give birth after their due date”. They won’t induce her until she’s at least ten days overdue — standard practice, the doctor claims. Her mom has encouraged her to look on the bright side, think about how the baby has “more time to cook” this way and certainly won’t be at risk of underdevelopment.

 

Frankly, Evan’s kind of beyond caring at this point. Yes, she wants her baby to be healthy, but she also wants to not be so giant she can’t see her own feet anymore. She wants her ankles to not be swollen to the size of Jupiter, she wants her lower back to stop feeling like someone’s stuck a meat cleaver into it, she wants to be able to sleep for more than four hours at a time, and most of all, she wants to meet her baby already. She’s been waiting for nine months — every additional day that passes feels like a lifetime gone by.

 

Evan is _so_ sick of waiting.

 

Thankfully, Zoe and Jared are well aware of the extent of her misery (probably because of the fifty million texts she’s sent in their group chat complaining) and message her that morning, proposing one last sleepover before the baby comes.

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:52 AM **

** itll be like a bachelorette **

** party. except instead of  **

** getting married, ur popping **

** out a kid **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 9:52 AM **

** “popping out a kid”. wow. **

** what a way to refer to the **

** miracle of birth, jared. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:53 AM **

** Jared, if I hear you use the term “popping” **

** in relation to me giving birth again, I  **

** might puke. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:53 AM **

** Thank you for getting me absolutely terrified **

** again. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:54 AM **

** oh jfc buck up evan, **

** god invented painkillers for **

** a reason, u’ll be fine once  **

** they get that needle in ur  **

** spine **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:54 AM **

** JARED **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 9:55 AM **

** actually, fidel pagés  **

** invented today’s modern  **

** epidural technique??? so  **

** you can be thanking him  **

** and not god, evan. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:55 AM **

** shut up nerd **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:56 AM **

** I hate you guys. Almost as much as I  **

** hate being SEVEN FUCKING DAYS **

** OVERDUE **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:56 AM **

** nah u love us **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:56 AM **

** and ur gonna love us even **

** more when we come over **

** w a tray of cynthias **

** brownies tonite **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:57 AM **

** Oh my god. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:57 AM **

** That’s almost enough to make me forget **

** my feet are so swollen they look like **

** freaking inflatable rafts. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:58 AM **

** that… doesnt even make **

** sense??? **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 9:58 AM **

** Shut up. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 9:59 AM **

** normally i wouldnt but im **

** kinda terrified of u n ur **

** angry pregnant lady vibes **

** rn so i will. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:00 AM **

** stop promoting sexist **

** stereotypes about women, **

** jared. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 10:00 AM **

** its not sexist if its tru **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 10:01 AM **

** Jared, I am going to kill you. **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 10:01 AM **

** SEE?? i feel threatened **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:02 AM **

** oh my god, you’re a  **

** fucking idiot kleinman. **

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 10:02 AM **

** well fuck u too murphy  **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:03 AM **

** hey evan, is it okay if i **

** invite alana, too?  **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 10:03 AM **

** Yeah, of course!  **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 10:04 AM **

** oh great so we’ll get to **

** watch u guys make out all  **

** nite, sounds like a real  **

** treat **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:04 AM **

** jared, just shut up now **

** before i actually have to  **

** kill you. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:05 AM **

** and we’re not going to  **

** make out in front of you **

** guys. lana doesn’t like **

** pda anyway. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen **

** 10:05 AM **

** Jared, let’s not be mean.  **

** They’re madly in love, they **

** can’t help it. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:06 AM **

** oh my god evan we’ve  **

** been dating for 2 weeks. **

** we’re not in love. **

 

** From: Evan Hansen  **

** 10:06 AM **

** You’re in love.  **

 

** From: Jared Kleinman **

** 10:07 AM **

** yeah u got it bad murphy. **

** sorry pal. **

 

** From: Zoe Murphy **

** 10:08 AM **

** ugh, whatever. see you **

** guys at 6.  **

 

——

Zoe and Jared keep their promise and show up on her doorstep at exactly 6 PM, Alana in tow. Evan’s happy to see them all, even if she’s slightly jealous of the fact that they don’t waddle whenever they walk and their stomachs aren’t so huge they feel like they might tip over at any given second. She instantly forgets all those troubles, though, when she opens the door to find Zoe bearing a Tupperware container full of Cynthia Murphy’s famous brownies, the one thing she can actually make that always ends up tasting great.

 

Evan accepts the brownies, a grin the size of New York forming on her face at the mere sight of them, and invites the three of them inside. Zoe lets Alana go in first, murmuring something undoubtedly sweet in her ear, and Evan has to stifle a laugh when Jared rolls his eyes at the affectionate display and mouths, “ _Help, they’ve been like this all day_.” 

 

She sets the brownies down on the kitchen counter and eases herself onto the couch, her friends all finding their own spots. Jared settles into the plush rocking chair where her mom always naps after long shifts, and Alana perches on the edge of the couch, giving Evan plenty of space to stretch out, while Zoe flops onto the bean bag chair she’d found at a yard sale a couple months ago and insisted on buying. 

 

“So, how’s school?” Evan asks, watching as Jared grabs the remote and starts scrolling through the Movies category on Netflix.

 

“Not bad!” Alana says brightly. “We’ve just finished AP exams, and I feel fairly confident that I got a 5 on at least a few of them. It’s unfortunate you weren’t feeling up to taking the AP Environmental Science exam, Evan — it was much easier than I’d anticipated.” 

 

Evan can’t help but chuckle at the way Zoe looks at her girlfriend as she says this — she’s staring at her like she’s just discovered the cure for cancer or something. It’s pretty adorable, how googly-eyed Zoe goes when she’s around Alana. “Look at how disgustingly in love your auntie is,” she whispers to her stomach. Alana doesn’t hear, but Zoe with her freakily-good hearing does, and Evan earns a Murphy Death Glare™ for her troubles.

 

“What’s wrong, Zoe?” Alana questions, quickly noticing the pure irritation radiating from the younger girl’s eyes. “Is everything alright?”

 

Zoe turns tomato red, blushing and sputtering, and hastily replies, “Nothing’s wrong, Lana, I was just thinking — Jared should totally tell us about his date on Friday!” 

 

“What the fuck, Zoe,” Jared hisses, angrily shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “that was _not_ supposed to be public information.” 

 

“You’re going on a date?” 

 

“Well, Jesus, Evan, don’t sound so fucking _surprised_ — ”

 

“Who’s your date, Jared? Do we know her?” Alana interrupts, clearly attempting to mediate the situation — she’s not quite used to the banter that constitutes Evan, Jared, and Zoe’s friendship. 

 

Jared’s face flushes, and in spite of herself, Evan smirks a bit — she hasn’t seen him this embarrassed since Brian Harris accused him of peeing his pants in fifth grade after he spilled his water all over himself at lunch. “It’s a blind date,” he mumbles, staring down at the remote in his hand. “With one of Zoe’s friends.” 

 

“We were on my Facebook the other day and he saw a picture of her,” Zoe explains, struggling to sit up from where she’s sunken into the bean bag. “He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he thought she was gorgeous, and he’s always whining about being the third wheel, so I figured, why not? I showed her his Instagram, and by some grace of God, she thinks the memes he never shuts up about are absolutely _hilarious._ So they’re catching the new Kristen Wiig movie on Friday.” 

 

“What’s her name?” Alana looks almost as excited as she did when they’d met to talk about The Connor Project a couple weeks ago. “I’m sure I know her, I know _everyone_ in jazz band, being the fundraising chair and all — ”

 

“Her name is Rachael, and can we stop talking about this, please?” Jared groans, starting to flip through the movies on Netflix again. 

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Zoe.” Alana pouts for a second, then bursts into giggles when Zoe’s eyes widen and profuse apologies start to pour out of her mouth. “I’m just kidding. I completely understand why Jared would be reluctant to share the details of his date with us. He probably wanted to make sure it was successful at first before saying anything.” 

 

“Wait, _what_?! Alana, are you implying that I might not — ”

 

“No, Jared, I was simply attempting to explain — ”

 

“Jared, don’t talk to her like that — ”

 

Evan just watches and laughs, the grin on her face the biggest she’s sported in months. They’re kind of a mess, and they’re crazy and chaotic for sure, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 

They’re her family, the siblings she never got to have, the people who she knows she can count on to love and protect this baby without hesitation. The people who she knows love _her_ , too. 

 

And for every shitty thing that’s happened to her in the past year, Evan is suddenly sure: struggling through it all, that was worth it. Not climbing one branch higher, that was worth it. Deciding to raise this child alone, that was worth it. _Living_ , not just for Connor, not just for her mom or the baby or anyone else, but for herself — that was worth it.

 

She doesn’t regret it.

 

——

When Evan wakes up at three in the morning to a gush of fluid, as gross as it is, she honestly thinks she’s maybe just peed herself. It’s not like that’s a common occurrence in her world, but, well, that would make sense, right? The baby pressing on her bladder and everything.

 

She’s a little annoyed, frankly. Could her body have maybe decided to do this at another time, when she’s not in the middle of the most sleep she’s gotten in weeks? She grumbles to herself as she cautiously stands up, wincing as she catches sight of the giant dark patch on the couch, where she’d been sleeping. The light in the kitchen is on for some reason, and Evan hurries there the best she can to grab a towel to throw down on the wet spotbefore she goes upstairs to change.

 

She gets to the kitchen and realizes that Alana’s in there, sitting at the table and drinking a cup of coffee, scrolling through some emails on her phone. “Hey, Evan. Sorry if I woke you up, I’m a bit of an insomniac and so I brought some of my own coffee in advance, I hope you don’t mind that I used your coffee pot — ” She stops short. “Evan, your shorts are soaked,” Alana says slowly, staring at Evan’s legs. Her cheeks heat, self-consciousness nagging at the back of her brain as she glances mournfully at the cute striped pajamas she’s ruined. _Damn it, those were my_ nice _ones —_

 

“Why are you not freaking out?!” Alana’s voice has risen to an almost ear-piercing pitch, and Evan’s pretty sure that Zoe and Jared are definitely gonna get waken up by this. Great, now everyone’s going to know she peed her pants and they’re never going to want to be friends with her again — 

 

She takes a deep breath, trying to force the panicky thoughts out of her head. “Why would I be freaking out, Alana? That’s something I’m trying not to do anymore, remember?” she croaks out, voice rough as she groggily stumbles over to the roll of paper towels on the counter.

 

“Because — ” Alana’s cut off by the sounds of Jared and Zoe getting up, both cursing softly and muttering something about _what the fuck it’s 3 AM guys_. Evan rips a couple of sheets off from the towel roll and starts to waddle in the general direction of the living room, where someone’s turned on a light. Her mom must still be at work, or otherwise she’d be in here by now with all the commotion.

 

“ _Holy shit_ , Evan,” Zoe breathes, eyes the size of dinner plates as she skids to a halt in front of her. 

 

“ _What_ , Zoe?” Evan snaps, unable to keep the slight irritation at bay.

 

“Oh my god, you dumbass. You’re in labor,” Jared informs her.

 

Well.

 

That makes a hell of a lot more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we go folks!!! r u ready to meet baby hansen-murphy bc i so am (and no, baby hansen-murphy will not be its name)
> 
> let's be real alana and zoe are disgustingly in love and probably soulmates
> 
> also a moment of silence for jared and his blind date. may he find love
> 
> get ready for lots of drama! and tears! lots of 'em!!!! 
> 
> thank you for the love and support as always. love y'all <3
> 
> xo,  
> L


	17. seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: lots of talk about labor. and there's a (poorly-written, hella vague) sex scene in here. you have been warned and if you wanna avoid the sex i'd suggest avoiding the majority of the italics.
> 
> thanks to HamiltonTrash for helping me get through this monster of a chapter oh my lord it was rough but i did it!! yay!

** seventeen. **

Jared  volunteers to drive, Alana too busy trying to be helpful and Zoe too busy bearing the brunt of Evan’s hyperventilating as the contractions start. “Oh my _god_ , Jared, watch out!” Zoe shouts, the tires squealing loudly as Jared brakes hard at a red light, barely avoiding rear-ending the Jeep in front of them.

 

“Do _not_ criticize the hospital driver! How are there even this many people out at 3 AM?!” Jared screeches back. If Evan weren’t in the middle of trying not to scream her lungs out, she’d totally be laughing at how nervous he is right now, knuckles gone white against the steering wheel, sweat beading on his forehead.

 

“Alana, have you managed to reach Evan’s mom yet?” Zoe asks, leaning forward to peer over her girlfriend’s shoulder. Poor Alana got stuck up front with Jared, and she’s looking pretty green right now — she might be more in need of a hospital visit than Evan by the end of this car ride. 

 

Alana shakes her head. “No, I’ve called like a million times. She must be busy,” she says, voice high and thin. 

 

Pain tears through Evan’s stomach, and she lets out a pathetic whimper, increasing her grip on Zoe’s hand. Zoe winces but, to her credit, doesn’t pull away, instead focusing on using her free hand to slip her phone out of her pocket and dial a number.

 

“Mom? Oh, God, I’m so glad you picked up. Listen, Evan’s in labor. Can you meet us at the hospital? Her mom’s not picking up.” Zoe falls silent for a moment, nodding as Cynthia says something on the other line. Her hand is icy cold, especially compared to Evan’s clammy, overheated skin (which the pain certainly isn’t helping with). Zoe turns and gives her a gentle smile, somehow sensing Evan’s mounting discomfort, and Evan relaxes her grip a bit. _Everything will be alright_ , she tells herself. _This is going to be over so soon and you’ll be fine_ — 

 

Then another contraction stabs at her abdomen, and Evan has no clue how this could _ever_ be alright.

 

——

Two hours later and she’s screaming at the ceiling of a hospital room, feeling absolutely fucking ridiculous but also in too much agony to care. 

 

Her mom kneels by one side of the bed, Zoe and Cynthia standing by the other. Evan’s got one hand squeezing her mother’s, the other clutching at the bedrail as she tries desperately to not completely lose her shit at what the nurse is telling her. “W-what do you _mean_ I c-can’t have an epidural?” she grinds out, a sweaty strand of hair falling into her face.

 

“Ma’am, I’m not saying that you can’t have an epidural, I’m simply advising you that it may slow down the process of labor — ”

 

Evan’s pretty sure daggers are shooting out of her eyes right now. “I don’t _care_ ,” she cries, voice breaking. She’s completely aware of just how pitifully desperate she sounds right now, but, again, she’s too out of it to care. 

 

The nurse sighs. “Alright. I’ll grab the anesthesiologist.” Evan’s never been so happy to see someone leave a room before.

 

Heidi squeezes her hand encouragingly, a tiny grin on her features as she does her best to pretend Evan’s totally not cutting off all circulation to her arm right now. She’d rushed down to the ER the second she’d been able to check her phone and listen to the myriad of voicemails Zoe, Cynthia, _and_ Alana had all left. Thankfully, her mom had been near the end of her shift anyway, so it wasn’t like she was losing many hours to be here. She’s still in her same old stained purple scrubs, though, and Evan has a brief moment of rational thought where she debates texting Jared and asking him to run by the house to grab some clothes for her mom.

 

Rational thoughts don’t last for long when you’re in labor, though, and Evan just ends up groaning and crushing her mom’s fingers again.

 

As for the rest of the gang, both Alana and Jared have returned home (a miracle by any standard, considering Jared’s driving on the way to the hospital), while Larry’s camped out in the waiting room. He’s a bit squeamish, according to Cynthia, and honestly, Evan would prefer that her baby’s paternal grandfather _not_ really see any more of her than he has to.

 

A fresh wave of contractions hits her, and Evan swears to _God_ she’s going to tear this room apart if she doesn’t get some relief soon. “I know, baby, I know it hurts,” her mom whispers, taking the destruction of her hand like a champ as she strokes at Evan’s hair. “It’ll all be over soon, though, and then you’ll get to meet your baby. How exciting is that?” 

 

Evan doesn’t trust herself to form words right now. Cynthia jumps in to fill the silence, chirping, “Oh, Evan, I just can’t wait! I know Larry would love to have a granddaughter — ”

 

“Mom, Dad absolutely does not _care_ ,” Zoe cuts her off, and Evan’s beyond grateful for her right now. She doesn’t want to say anything she doesn’t really mean in the heat of the moment and hurt Cynthia’s feelings again. “He’ll force his love of baseball on the baby no matter what,” she adds, glancing over at Evan and winking when Cynthia doesn’t say anything else. Thank God for Zoe Murphy.

 

They all practically dance with joy when the anesthesiologist walks in. Evan, for one, has never been so excited to have a needle in her spine.

 

——

Something goes wrong. Evan’s system, apparently, does not like pain relief all that much. She wonders why she didn’t figure that out when she broke her arm last June.

 

It’s like she’s thinking through a haze. Actually, she can’t tell if she’s thinking at all. Things don’t make much sense right now. She doesn’t really feel like she’s in her own body. Where did Connor go? _He was just here…_

 

“What do you mean you gave my daughter _morphine_?” Heidi’s screaming at the anesthesiologist. 

 

“Please try to calm down, Mrs. Hansen, we don’t believe she’ll be giving birth for at least another five hours and your daughter appeared to be in a great deal of pain, so we felt morphine to be the better option — ”

 

“Do you _see_ how out of it she is, she can barely keep her own _head up_ — ”

 

“Mom. _Mom_.” Evan tugs at her mother’s sleeve, puts what little energy she has left into giving the hardest tug possible to get her immediate attention. 

 

“What is it, sweetie?” her mom says softly. Cynthia appears severely concerned. Zoe’s biting at her nails. Evan wants to tell her to stop but she doesn’t think she has it in her to get all of those words out.

 

“Where’d Connor go?” she croaks. “He l-left like twenty minutes ago, can you go find him please, I want him back — ”

 

Heidi freezes, eyes wide and shiny. To her left, Cynthia lets out a choked sob and runs from the room. Zoe doesn’t seem to be breathing at all, face gone pale. “I—I should probably go be with my mom,” she says after a few moments, sounding very small. Evan’s mom just nods at her, squeezing at Evan’s shoulder once Zoe is gone.

 

Why are they so upset? She doesn’t understand, Connor’s probably just scared to be in the room because he doesn’t like to see her in pain, all they need to do is text him or just go look for him.

 

——

_It’s a warm Friday night in August, and Connor Murphy is currently sprawled across Evan’s desk chair, long legs propped up against her windowsill. If it were anyone else, that would definitely not be a thing — but it’s Connor, so he could basically trash her room and Evan would still (pathetically) let him get away with it._

 

_They’ve just finished the second season of Sense8 on her laptop, it’s like eleven-thirty at night (her mom’s working the graveyard shift tonight), and Evan had honestly expected to be tired by now, but she’s practically vibrating with energy. She only ever gets like this around Jared, on the rare occasion that he actually bothers to stop by for a sleepover, but Evan knows she’ll start babbling any minute now, lose all inhibition and confess things she probably shouldn’t. She should’ve been in bed hours ago._

 

_This is definitely the best way she’s spent her Friday night in years, though._

 

_“My parents are putting me in therapy again,” Connor speaks up, standing to stretch for a moment. Evan’s been playing with a loose thread on her bedspread, but now she looks up, finds the courage to meet his eyes, and feels her heart lift just a little when she doesn’t see any sign of pain there. That’s not a sight she often gets to see._

 

_“T-that’s good, Connor,” she says, wincing at how bubbly the words come out._

 

_“Yeah, I guess. At least they’re trying? We’ll see how long this round lasts,” he snorts, voice decidedly less bitter than usual. “I mean, I actually have been feeling better, though. Obviously not better enough to warrant skipping therapy, but — I think my 95% has decreased to, like, 75%. Which is good.”_

 

_Evan’s heart aches for him, that feeling suicidal seventy-five percent of the time seems like such a momentous occasion, such a milestone — then again, if she were to feel anxious only seventy-five percent of the time rather than ninety-five percent of the time, she’d be pretty happy, too. She’s glad for him, though. Any improvement, however small, is better than nothing._

 

_“I-I’ve been feeling a lot better, too,” she admits, gathering up all her courage and forcing it into two sentences. “Ever since we started being friends, actually.”_

 

_Something in Connor’s eyes changes, but Evan can’t quite pinpoint it. All she knows is that she forgets how to breathe as he crosses the room, closing the distance between them one slow step at a time._

 

_“Please tell me you’re not fucking with me,” he says lowly. She can smell the earthiness of his cologne, he’s so close._

 

_“I’m not,” she promises. “I — I’m really thankful I met you, Connor.”_

 

_“I’m thankful I met you too, Evan.”_

 

_Evan’s just thinking about how those are the best words she’s ever heard in her life when, suddenly — suddenly, his lips are on hers, so unbelievably soft, and he tastes kind of like spearmint, which makes sense because she’d given him a stick of Wrigley’s before and —_

 

_Holy shit. She’s kissing Connor Murphy._

 

——

Four hours later, Evan is devastatingly aware that Connor was never there to begin with, won’t _ever_ be there, and Zoe’s just come back in only to be immediately shooed out when Evan starts to have a panic attack.

 

For all her efforts, breathing exercises and counting to ten and “positive thinking”, she can’t stop it from coming. Her chest goes tight and her heart rate skyrockets and the nurse is about to step in with a sedative, claiming that the baby will go into distress, but Evan just panics more at the thought of that and Heidi insists that she can calm her down if they just _give her a second, dammit_.

 

“Evan. Sweetie. Look at me.” Her mom cups her face with both hands, tilting it up so their eyes meet, and Evan can tell by the way the corners of her mom’s lips tilt down into a frown that her own eyes must be full of nothing but panic.

 

“What am I gonna do, Mom? Connor’s gone and the baby doesn’t have a dad, ohmygodIwishhewashere, Mom what am I gonna _do_ , what if the baby’s never happy because they don’t have a dad, what if they _hate me_ , theycan’thatemeMomplease,” she sobs. “IneedConnor—”

 

“Evan. Baby. _Breathe_.” Her mom smoothes at her hair, all sweaty and sticking up in a million different directions, and the gesture is so comforting, something that goes all the way back to Evan’s childhood, that her body can’t help but relax a little at it, some of the tension dissipating. “Your child will be happy, I promise, sweetheart,” Heidi says fiercely. “And there is not a single doubt in my mind about your ability to give this baby a great life — they are gonna love you so much, honey. It’s not fair that Connor’s not here, I know that, but you can raise the baby without him, and you will _not_ be alone. You’ve got me, you’ve got the Murphys, you’ve got Jared and Alana, there are _so_ many people who want to help you, sweetie. Everything will be okay, and I will be there for you every step of the way. And if you’re ever unsure — we’ll figure it out. Together.” 

 

Her mom kisses her forehead, and Evan finally feels like she can breathe again.

 

They can do this.

 

_She_ can do this.

 

——

_Connor’s hands slide underneath her shirt and up her back, fingers dancing across her spine, and Evan shivers as he murmurs into her ear, “I want you. Is that okay?”_

 

_And they’re not okay, really, they’re far from okay, but_ this _— this is okay. Evan wants him, too, has wanted him for longer than she’s maybe even realized._

 

_She nods, breathes a “yes” against his lips, and Connor groans, pulling her in closer. He kisses her, deep and soft and wonderful, and she knots her fingers in his curls (and prays that doesn’t hurt him because, holy shit, that’s the last thing she needs right now)._

 

_They end up tangled in a pile of limbs on her bed, Connor’s long legs knocking against her constantly (Evan doesn’t mind), as he pulls her shirt over her head and makes quick work of her bra. She reaches for the hem of Connor’s plain black T-shirt, looking up to meet his eyes in a wordless request for permission, and he nods, lifting his arms to help her get it off. The shirt hits the floor with a satisfying thump._

 

_Connor’s hands are everywhere, places Evan never even knew she wanted them, and it’s_ so so _good — but she freezes when he reaches the button of her jeans. “Still okay?” Connor asks, pressing a kiss against her collarbone._

 

_“Yeah,” Evan tells him, “just, uh — do you have a —” She stumbles over her words, so overwhelmed already by how amazing he is and pretty fucking nervous, too, but Connor just laughs and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a thin foil package from his wallet, tosses it onto the bed, and Evan’s heart skips a beat because_ this is actually happening _._

 

_Connor is warm, for once, a pleasant surprise since his hands are usually icy cold. Evan always jokes with him about it._ “Cold hands, warm heart,” _she’ll grin._

 

_Evan can feel his heartbeat, strong and constant and_ there _. She thinks how she doesn’t want to live in a world where that heartbeat isn’t always right next to hers._

 

_“You good?” Connor says softly, glancing up from his spot at the hollow of her throat to meet her gaze, and Evan’s breath catches at how beautiful his eyes are._

 

_She blinks away the tears she didn’t even know were there. “Yeah,” she says, voice gone raspy. “Just — i-if you’re going to take my pants off, you should probably take yours off too.”_

 

_She’s so fucking awkward, but Connor’s gracious about it, and he nods, slipping off his black skinny jeans in what must be world-record time, Evan’s cheeks heating at the sight in front of her. Turns out that dark gray Calvins don’t hide all that much._

 

_His fingers are back on the button of her jeans again, Connor searching for permission in her face, and Evan gives him a quiet_ “okay” _, trembling a bit as he carefully unzips them and she kicks them off onto the floor. Left in just her underwear, she feels so exposed, but Connor’s staring at her almost in awe, an expression she’s never seen from him before._

 

_“It’s actually almost unfair how beautiful you are,” he tells her, and Evan’s pretty sure she must be blushing up to her ears at this point._

 

_She’s_ definitely _blushing up to her ears when Connor settles between her legs, fingers splayed across her hipbones, and shoots her a devilish grin._

 

——

“It’s time to push, Evan,” her new nurse says. She only came in about an hour ago, but Evan likes her much better than the previous one — she reminds her of a jolly British grandmother, or maybe an older version of Mary Poppins. Whatever the case, she’s definitely nicer than the nurse Evan had been dealing with for the past five hours.

 

Zoe’s by her side again, Cynthia in the waiting room because she’s still so devastated from Evan’s earlier delusions. She’s got Zoe to her left, her mom to her right, and Evan knows she’s ready but she also feels so _not_ ready, and how is that possible? 

 

She’s so tired. She’s been in labor for something like six hours now, which she knows is a _far_ shorter period than most other women have to deal with, but _god_ is she exhausted, worn to the bone.

 

Maybe she can’t do this.

 

It’s like both her mom and Zoe read the expression on her face at the same time, because they immediately start to simultaneously encourage her, a chorus of _“You got this!”_ and _“You can do this!”_ and _“C’mon, let’s meet this baby!”_ as they squeeze at her hands and give her the biggest grins she’s ever seen on a human being.

 

_I can do this_ , Evan tells herself. _I can do this._

 

“Okay, Evan, let’s do this,” the nurse urges.

 

She starts to push.

 

——

_“Well, one thing we’ve learned today: you’re a talker,” Connor whispers into her ear when he’s finished, pulling himself back up to hover over her._

 

_“Shut up,” Evan says, still dazed from that goddamn_ amazing _thing Connor just did with his tongue. He was definitely worth the wait, she thinks to herself._

 

_Connor nips at her neck, marks blooming there that Evan’ll probably mind tomorrow but couldn’t care less about right now. She’s shaking with how sorta-kinda-overwhelmed she is, caught up in how badly she wants him, even after what he’s just done for her. She’s ready for this, she knows. When her mom gave her “the talk” (and, ew, now she’s thinking about her mom, better stop that) back in seventh grade, she’d told her that Evan would just know when she was ready. She’d feel it in the moment. And Evan feels it here, now. She’s ready to be close, to be vulnerable, because she knows that Connor won’t judge her. He understands her, understands it all, even the bad parts, the things that most other people can’tand don’t even try to pretend to understand._

 

_So she stifles a moan as he starts kissing his way down her stomach again and manages to get out, “Connor, can we please have sex already?”_

 

_He grins at her, the look in his eyes so warm, like Evan’s just snatched the stars from the sky for him, and says, “I’m ready when you are.”_

 

_“I’m ready,” Evan says, breathless, pulling his face to hers for a quick kiss, “I’m_ so _ready.”_

 

_Fifteen minutes later, Evan’s a little sore, but she’s flushed and happy and_ calm _, for once, curled up against an exhausted but also-happy Connor. She’s sleepy, they both are, the intensity of the night hitting them equally as hard, and she can feel herself drifting off._

 

_Evan can’t always control what she says when she’s tired. So she really doesn’t even notice when the words, “I love you,” slip past her lips._

 

——

“You did it, Evan!” are the first words that she registers after the sound of her baby’s cry fills the room.

 

Her mom is emotional, trying but failing to hide her quiet sobs, Zoe’s eyes shining with a kind of light Evan hasn’t seen in so long, and Evan is vaguely aware of warm, wet tears slipping down her cheeks as her baby is placed on her chest.

 

“It’s a boy,” the grandmotherly nurse announces, something like pride lacing her voice, and Evan didn’t know her heart could hold so much love in it, it _must_ be at capacity as she stares down at her baby. At her baby boy.

 

“He’s perfect, Mom,” she whispers, “he’s so perfect.” She’s so wrapped up in him, this tiny little slice of wonder, and she wants to tell the whole world how amazing he is as she counts his ten little fingers and ten little toes.

 

“He’s got a lot of hair,” the nurse comments, chuckling as she readies some supplies. He _does_ have a lot of hair, Connor’s hair, Evan thinks, a head full of little brown curls that make her heart ache.

 

The baby is so beautiful, so fucking beautiful she can’t even handle it. He’s got her mother’s smile, she can already tell, and a little button nose (which she has no idea where that came from, but whatever), and the prettiest blue eyes she’s ever seen.

 

And he’s hers. Her son.

 

Evan’s never really been proud of herself before, but this. This is something she can be proud of.

 

——

_She’s used to waking up alone, so when Evan gets up the next morning and there’s nobody there next to her, she’s not alarmed._

 

_It’s only when the memories of the past night come rushing back to her that she starts to worry._

 

_If this were a rom-com instead of her sad fucking reality, then Connor would be out to buy the two of them coffee, or maybe downstairs making her breakfast andchatting with her mom. But this is the life of Evan Hansen, loser extraordinaire, and so of course that would never happen to her._

 

_No, the sinking feeling in her stomach tells her everything she needs to know._

 

_She messed up, did too much, said too much, fucked things up_ somehow _, and he’s left her._

 

_She tries to fix the damage any way she can. She calls him, but it goes straight to voicemail. She tries to text him, but the messages won’t send, and she quickly realizes that Connor’s blocked her._

 

_Evan swears she can feel her heart shattering as she sits, alone, in her bed, the bed that just last night had held two people, hugs her knees to her chest, and cries._

 

_Happiness for her has always been a fleeting thing, something she can never quite catch a hold of. Good things never last, if they come at all._

 

_She should’ve known Connor Murphy would be no exception._

 

——

Evan never wants to let this baby go, not for as long as she lives, but she’s forced to hand him over to the nurse so they can clean him up, weigh him, and perform whatever initial tests they deem necessary. To distract her, Zoe asks her what his name will be.

 

“Eliot Connor Hansen,” Evan says, entire body buzzing with happiness as it finally dawns on her that she’s really a _mom_ now, the mother of a gorgeous little boy who she can only hope will love her half as much as she loves him.

 

“Eliot?” Zoe raises a brow, then laughs quietly as she makes the connection. “Like the Kurt Vonnegut character. Eliot Rosewater. One of Connor’s favorite authors…” She trails off, the silence between them enough for a moment, before she adds, “It’s perfect, Evan. Just perfect.” 

 

Bliss settles over her as Eliot is handed back to her, now all wrapped up in a little hat and blanket, and there’s never been a better feeling than the weight of him in her arms. She looks up to find Cynthia scurrying into the room, Larry right behind her, the both of them red-eyed and seemingly in shock as they catch a glimpse of Eliot.

 

“Can I hold him?” Cynthia sounds so fragile, and it’s so hard to give her baby to someone else, but Evan knows the other woman needs it more than she probably does right now, so she gently places Eliot in her arms, smiling at how Cynthia instantly starts to coo over him.

 

“Oh, Evan,” she whispers tearily. “He’s beautiful.” Larry peers over his wife’s shoulder, entire face lighting up at the sight of his grandson, and Evan’s never seen him cry openly before, but he starts to now, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t even attempt to wipe them away, and Evan’s secretly proud of him for that.

 

“Thank you, Evan,” Larry speaks up, voice gone thick. “We’ll never get our Connor back, but in a way — in some way, it’s like you’ve given us a small piece of him back.And we can never thank you enough for that.” 

 

Evan wouldn’t even want them to try.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is folks. we've still got a good 2-ish chapters left so no worries this is not the end but. yeah. 
> 
> hopefully you don't hate me too much for my name choice? i rather like it so. 
> 
> also fun fact, i listened to ben platt's cover of "touch me" from spring awakening when i was writing that godawful sex scene. the scene is terrible but the cover is certainly not and y'all should check it out on youtube.
> 
> also psa!!! don't have sex with condoms pulled out of wallets!! that is how they degrade and then break and thanks to connor w his dumb wallet condom we now have eliot so be careful out there y'all
> 
> thank you for the love and support i love y'all so much you have no idea
> 
> xo,  
> L


	18. eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter isn't very long, but truly, i don't feel it needs to be. i think it says what needs to be said (plus, how much angst do y'all really want to deal with, haha).

** eighteen. **

She  hasn’t dreamt in weeks, but the night of Eliot’s birth, her exhausted body finally allows her to.

 

They’re not in their usual meeting place, Evan realizes as her surroundings materialize around her. They’re at the orchard, though here it’s perfect and new, not the abandoned, dilapidated lot she’s grown used to in real life. 

 

“I chose it,” Connor declares, Evan starting at the sound of his voice as he steps out from behind a giant apple tree. “I hope that’s okay,” he adds. Evan can’t find the words to respond to him for a few moments, stuck simply staring at him, eyes devouring every detail of the beautiful boy in front of her because she never knows if she’ll get to see those details again. Like always, he’s sporting the outfit she last saw him in, the black jeans and hoodie he’d worn in the computer lab. Even those beat-up combat boots are on his feet — the only difference is he’s stopped bringing his messenger bag along. Not like he needs it anyway.

 

“N-no, Connor, it’s more than okay. It’s _perfect_ ,” she finally says, unable to stop herself from running into his arms. Evan instantly goes completely calm at his touch, entire body relaxing as his arms encircle herand his hands stroke at her hair.

 

“It’s been a while,” Connor murmurs into her ear.“I’ve missed you.” 

 

He’s right — it _has_ been a while. From what Evan can remember, she last saw him about a month ago, back when she was still dealing with all The Connor Project’s drama and heavily pregnant at that.

 

And, oh, yeah — she should probably tell him about Eliot. Though something about Connor’s demeanor, that little glint in his eye, makes Evan think that he already knows.

 

“I had the baby,” she whispers as they break apart, heart aching already at the loss of contact. “A little boy. His name is Eliot. Eliot Connor Hansen.”

 

“I know,” Connor says, and Evan swears she sees his eyes going shiny. “I like Eliot. You got it from Kurt Vonnegut, right?” She nods. “Nice touch. Though Connor is kind of a cursed name, I don’t know if I would’ve saddled him with that.”

 

Now she’s shaking her head. “He’ll be okay, Connor,” she insists. “Your name isn’t — it’s not _cursed_ , or anything like that. And Eliot will have so many people to support him. He’s so loved already.”

 

“Good,” Connor murmurs, the both of him pretending they don’t hear the crack in his voice as tears track down his cheeks. He wipes them away furiously, and Evan hurts so much for him, she can’t even describe.

 

She hurts for him, because he’ll never get to meet Eliot. He won’t watch him grow up, never see the amazing man he’ll become. He won’t get to hold him or kiss him or call him “El” with the same kind of affectionate tone that he uses when he calls her “Ev”. There won’t be any Daddy & Me art classes, no Saturday outings or sneaky trips to À La Mode before dinner. The two of them will never surprise her with breakfast in bed; they’ll never build blanket forts together or treat Eliot with a trip to Disney World just because. And maybe those things wouldn’t have happened anyway, maybe they’re all just fantasies that would never have been realized even if Connor had lived, but — but if he’d stayed, there would’ve been a chance. There would’ve been opportunities, some small probability. A 5% likelihood is better than 0%, in Evan’s eyes.

 

But Connor is gone, a father who Eliot will only ever see in photographs and dreams, and that _hurts_. It really fucking hurts, especially now that she can put a face to the little boy who will never meet his dad, now that she can picture the hurt look in those beautiful blue eyes when she has to explain to her son that he won’t be able to address his Father’s Day cards to Daddy when he makes them with the rest of his kindergarten class. They’ll have to be addressed to Larry, to Granddad. Because Dad’s not there anymore.

 

And she hurts for Eliot, more than she’s ever hurt for herself over the loss of Connor. Because, Evan now knows, even the mere idea of her child’s pain is far worse torture than her own suffering. That’s what it means to be a mother.

 

Connor must be able to feel her pain somehow, because he takes her hands in his and squeezes gently, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “Seriously. You’re incredible, and — so is he. Don’t forget that. And don’t let him forget that either.” 

 

“I won’t,” Evan manages to get out through her tears. God, she can’t wait for a time where she can honestly say she’s gone a full week without crying.

 

“Don’t make him cut his hair if he doesn’t want to,” Connor pleads. “My dad made me cut mine in seventh grade, and I couldn’t look in the mirror for a year until it all grew back. Let him keep it as long as he wants.”

 

“Okay,” Evan chokes out.

 

“Promise me, Evan.”

 

“I promise.” 

 

“Tell him I love him, okay? Make sure he never, not even for a second, thinks that I left because of him.” Connor pauses, then gives her a watery smile, not even bothering to try to conceal his tears at this point. “Why am I even saying this? I know you’ll take care of him. You’re a good person, Evan. He’s lucky to have you. So was I.” He pulls her close again, this time bringing her in for a kiss. It feels like a goodbye kiss, and it’s only the thought of Eliot that keeps Evan from shattering at the realization.

“I have to go now. For good this time,” he tells her, hands cupping the sides of her face as their eyes meet. Evan hopes she’s memorized the sight of his gaze by now, the patch of warm brown against cool blue, the intensity of the way he looks at her. “I love you. Don’t let that drag you down, but — don’t forget it, okay?”

 

“Okay,” she breathes. “I love you, too.”

 

“I know, Ev. I always did.” Connor’s lips meet hers in one last soft, sweet kiss, and the last thing she hears is _“Goodbye”_ as the world goes black around her.

 

_Goodbye, Connor._

 

——

Eliot and Evan are both dozing peacefully when Jared and Alana arrive the next morning. It _would_ be her luck that “Jesus, this place is colder than my Chem teacher’s heart” would be the first thing she wakes up to.

 

She blinks a couple of times, smiling as the unlikely duo come into view — normally she’d be at least a little irritated by Jared’s unwanted wakeup call, but with Eliot by her side, Evan can’t find it in herself to be even the tiniest bit annoyed. Maybe this baby really will change her for the better, she thinks to herself.

 

“Hey, Jared. Hey, Alana,” she greets, smile growing wider when she spots the bouquet of hydrangeas Jared’s got clutched in one hand. “Aw, Jared, are those for me?” 

 

“No, they’re for Eliot.” Jared rolls his eyes, shoving at his glasses with his free hand. “Duh, Hansen, of course they’re for you.” 

 

“I helped him pick them out,” Alana announces proudly. “Hydrangeas represent perseverance, and you’ve been through a lot, so I thought they were perfect! Plus, we all know blue is your favorite color.” 

 

Jared looks a little embarrassed at Alana’s revelation. “For fuck’s sake, Alana, you can’t give away _all_ a man’s secrets,” he mutters. 

 

“Jared! No cursing in front of the baby,” Evan instantly admonishes.

 

“Ah, so you’re gonna be one of _those_ moms, huh?” Jared laughs, setting down the flowers. “You’re so typical, Evan. And of course you just had to go and give birth on Mother’s Day. Hallmark will probably want to personally thank you by the end of the week.” 

 

“Wait, what?” Evan says. She honestly has no idea what the date is, or even what time — the nurses constantly checking in on the two of them have made keeping track of that near-impossible, leaving her in a hazy state of semi-sleep deprivation, but since her mom isn’t here (she’d stayed overnight), she assumes it’s around breakfast time.

 

“Yesterday was Mother’s Day,” Alana informs her. “I believe some people would call that being a cliché, but I think it’s really sweet.” 

 

“Thanks.” Evan sinks back into the pillows, wincing a little as the soreness hits her. Her pain meds have obviously worn off. Next to her, Eliot starts to gurgle.

 

“He’s definitely more attractive than his parents already,” Jared jokes, eyeing the squirming baby. He almost looks a little wistful. 

 

“You can hold him,” Evan tells him. 

 

Jared’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate to pick up Eliot, cradling him in a gentle fashion that Evan’s never seen from him before. She doesn’t even have to educate him on proper head support.

 

“Where did you learn to hold a baby like that, Jared?” Alana asks, just as shocked by the nurturing display.

 

“I have little cousins,” he replies, grinning when Eliot looks up at him and lets out a little coo. Evan hasn’t seen him this happy since they were kids.

 

Jared holds Eliot for a couple of minutes, then sets him down when the nurse comes in to check on them. He and Alana settle into the chairs by her bed, Alana sending off a hasty text to Zoe asking her to bring a vase and water for the flowers (details they hadn’t thought of, for once) when she comes to the hospital later. 

 

“I—I really just want to thank you guys for being there for me,” Evan says once the room is quiet again, the nurse having bustled Eliot off for some additional testing. “Not many people would’ve driven a screaming pregnant girl to the hospital at three in the morning, so thank you, really. I’m so lucky to have you guys.”

 

Jared opens his mouth, almost certainly to interrupt her rambling in typical Jared fashion (he’s never been good with emotion), but Evan doesn’t let him. “And I really hope you’ll want to stay in Eliot’s life and be like an aunt and uncle for him,” she continues, eyes getting a little misty. “I—if that’s okay with you guys, of course, I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything—”

 

“Oh my God, Evan, of _course_ I’ll accept,” Alana says, eyes bright and ponytail high. “That’s —” Her voice catches, and she stops for a moment to compose herself. “No one’s ever wanted me in their life that much before. I’d be honored to act as Eliot’s honorary aunt.” 

 

“Same goes for me,” Jared adds quickly.He hesitates, the struggle to appear casual about all this evident on his face.“If you’re, like, sure you want me to corrupt Eliot.” Evan’s learned how to read Jared, and she can tell what this is — masked insecurity disguised as humor. Nothing she’s not used to from him, but now she knows how to respond to it.

 

“I can’t think of a better person to corrupt him,” she says. 

 

If Jared knew how relieved he looks right now, he’d probably be beyond humiliated, but thankfully, he remains unaware as to what an open book he is. “Cool,” he replies nonchalantly. “Thanks.”

 

“Sure. I wanted you to know we’re not just Family Friends.”

 

Jared excuses himself under the pretense of an emergency bathroom break, but he and Evan both know it’s more like an Emergency Emotions Break™.

 

It’s okay, though. They all need one of those sometimes.

 

——

Heidi calls, promising to return with breakfast within the hour, and Jared and Alana end up leaving for school shortly after. But Alana’s parting words are ones that Evan will never forget.

 

Jared’s already out in the hallway, halfway to the elevator, when Alana calls over her shoulder, “Oh, and Evan? We raised enough money for the orchard.”

 

And as if Alana’s fulfilled promise of a rebuilt orchard wasn’t enough, when the nurse returns a safe and sound Eliot, Evan looks into her son’s eyes and just _knows_.

 

Connor might have said goodbye in her dream, but he’s never truly gone. In a way, he’ll never disappear. She’ll carry a part of him with her, always. He’s there, in the curl of Eliot’s hair and the bright blueness of his eyes. He’s there, in the love that Cynthia, Larry, and Zoe all share for Eliot. He’s there, in the promise of the orchard and all that it might do for a kid like him someday.

 

And he’s there, in her heart.

 

He’ll always be safe there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for evan figuring out how to heal! and yay for uncle jared and aunt alana!! and yay for eliot!!!
> 
> i love 'em so much
> 
> also connor's safe and can't be hurt anymore in evan's heart you guys, hate myself for writing that bc it makes me emotional ahh. :( 
> 
> finally, it's up to y'all to interpret the scene with connor as either a dream or perhaps something more than that. you can decide whether you want it to be something more of a "higher power" or just a psychological manifestation of evan's grief. whatever you feel is best for you as a reader! i wrote it to be open-ended like that for a reason.
> 
> two chapters to go.
> 
> i love y'all.
> 
> xo,  
> L


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a short chapter, but I felt like it was important and didn't want to shove it into the epilogue, so here we go!

** nineteen. **

Time  spent with Eliot and the people she loves passes by quickly, flashing before her eyes at the speed of light, and it’s graduation day before Evan can even truly process what that means.

 

Graduation. She’s waited so long for this, twelve years of anxiety attacks and reluctant presentations and hours spent crying over homework all building up to one day, one moment.

 

She’d been worried about her ability to walk, but thankfully, graduation is on June 16th, a full month and three days after Eliot’s birth, and so she’s more than well enough to walk across that stage by now. Evan’s beyond grateful for that — she wants nothing more than to share in this day with her friends and family. Her mom and Cynthia have even volunteered to keep Eliot happy and quiet while Zoe and Larry videotape the ceremony.

 

Principal Howard had asked her to give a speech about Connor back in May, but Evan had politely declined the offer. She wants Connor to be remembered, yes, but the school is already going to announce a scholarship fund in his name (Alana’s brainchild) at the ceremony — their entire graduation doesn’t need to be about him. He wouldn’t want that, anyway, and Evan fears it’d be bordering on glorifying his suicide.

 

She’s excited for Alana’s speech, though — as the class valedictorian, she’s required to give one anyway, and Evan knows she’s gonna kick ass. What’s even better is how pumped Alana’s been over it — she’s run through the speech with Zoe a million times (she refuses to let Evan and Jared hear it till graduation) and has even prepared color-coded notecards (purple for the introduction, yellow for the body of the speech, pink for the conclusion). Evan can’t wait to see what it’s about, since Alana’s been guarding the subject of her speech like a national secret. Even Zoe’s been sworn to silence.

 

Jared’s seated directly behind her, and they both clap as loudly as they can as Principal Howard introduces Alana and their friend steps up to the podium. Evan can hear Zoe screaming, _“Go, Alana!”_ from the stands, too.

 

“Congratulations, Class of 2018 — we did it!” Alana says, smile wide and bright. “This is a momentous occasion, one that we’ve been working towards nearly all our lives, and we are right to celebrate that — and celebrate we will.” She chuckles as a couple of their harder-partying classmates let out a whoop.

 

“But I would first like to take a moment to reflect on the journey we’ve taken to get here,” Alana continues, face growing serious. “This past year has had its ups and downs, no doubt, but I believe it’s taught us all an important lesson. For me, at least, it has underlined the importance of taking action _now_.” She pauses for a moment, eyes searching the crowd until they lock with Evan’s, and Evan grins at her, silently cheering Alana on.

 

“As you all know, we lost our classmate Connor Murphy in September,” Alana says solemnly. “And while Connor and I weren’t close, we’d shared a few classes — Honors English sophomore year, AP Biology junior year, and so on. I’m telling you this not because I want to make Connor the focus of this ceremony, but because I don’t want you all to live with the same regret that I do. Because now, I can’t help but wonder. What if I’d said something? What if I’d invited him to work on that Bio project at my place instead of at the library? What if I’d reached out?” Alana stops, taking a deep breath and gathering herself. Her graduation tassel sways in the slight afternoon breeze, and Evan’s heart aches for her when she spots the stray tear rolling down her cheek. Over the past month, she’s discovered that Connor’s death ate Alana up more than anyone could’ve realized. She blames herself, just like Evan had.

 

“I guess I’ll never know. And what I’m here to tell all of you today is, don’t force yourself to live with uncertainty,” Alana urges them. “Don’t allow ‘What if?’ to become your daily mantra. Reach out to that kid who sits by himself at lunch. Ask your trig teacher for help. Submit a piece to that art contest. Because the moment you decide to wait another day, the moment you decide to put it off — _that’s_ when life starts to move on without you. And trust me, you don’t want to get left behind.” 

 

Her speech continues on for a couple of minutes after that, but those words are the ones that ring in Evan’s head long after Alana’s finished. She gave the perfect speech, Evan thinks to herself. The kind of speech they all deserve.

 

Alana gets a standing ovation. Evan claps so much that her hands tingle with pain for a good ten minute after.

 

Alana is also the first of them to receive her diploma. Evan and Jared both shout her name loud enough to make Principal Howard glare, and Zoe’s practically screaming her lungs out from the stands. 

 

Evan’s the next of them to be called. Her mom, Jared, and the Murphys all yell her name, Alana clapping wildly as the vice principal booms, “Evan Diana Hansen.” She’s praying to whatever God there is that she won’t trip as she scrambles up the wooden stairs to the stage, breath hitching when the dumb heel her mom insisted she wear catches in the hem of her gown. Thankfully, she finds her balance, and her heart swells as she shakes hands with the principal and her other hand closes around her diploma.

 

She did it.

 

She returns to her seat, Jared already on his way to the stage but catching her eye for a moment to mouth, _“Diana? Really?”_ Evan can’t help but laugh. Yeah, her middle name doesn’t mesh with her first one all that well — of course Jared would notice.

 

Pride in the people around her has become a familiar feeling over these past few months. Evan’s experienced it so many times, whether in the midst of watching Zoe perfect a solo on her guitar or looking into her son’s eyes. And that’s exactly what washes over her as Jared walks across the stage. She felt it when Alana gave her speech and walked, too. And Evan’s so proud of them.

 

But she’s also growing accustomed to self-pride. She got the first inklings of it with Eliot, and now, as she looks down at the diploma she’s put so many tears into, she feels it again. 

 

For the second time in four short weeks, Evan is proud of herself. And that’s an amazing feeling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY for graduated babies and super supportive zoe -- next year it'll be her turn!
> 
> also yay for alana and her speech, what a gal
> 
> next chapter will be the epilogue, so i'll definitely write a long and ramble-y author's note then, rest assured
> 
> thank you for the support! i love y'all
> 
> xo,  
> L


	20. twenty (epilogue)

** twenty. **

"C' mon, Aunt Zoe, let’s go!” 

 

The sky is almost blindingly blue, sunshine bright against her face, and Evan basks in it, using one hand to prop herself up and the other to shade her eyes as she watches Eliot and Zoe race around the orchard, darting around the giant apple trees with a kind of playfulness that makes her heart swell.

 

“It’s sweet of her to do that,” her mom says to her left. For once, she’s sporting jeans and a faded T-shirt, not the stained scrubs of years past. She’s pink-cheeked and smiling, no bags under her eyes for once, the happiest Evan’s seen her in so long.

 

“I’m just glad she can match Eliot’s energy,” Cynthia chuckles to her right. “I do my best, but Lord knows I can’t compete with a six-year-old.” 

 

“She’s amazing,” Evan agrees. And that’s the truth — over the past six years, Zoe has gone above and beyond to be the World’s Coolest Aunt™, a title she loves to claim (if only to agitate Jared, who insists she’ll never be able to match his babysitting skills). She’s twenty-three and fresh out of college, but she’s got more energy to play with Eliot than Evan’s probably ever had in her entire life — maybe the gap year she’d taken after high school is what did the trick.

 

She doesn’t just have Zoe to thank, though. Everyone’s chipped in to help with Eliot at some point or another. 

 

When Evan was still eighteen, struggling to juggle classes at the community college and a six-month-old baby — Cynthia had been there. She’d offered to take Eliot during days when Evan had classes or exams, and Evan can’t count the number of times she’d shown up at the Murphy house only to find Cynthia asleep in her rocking chair, a peaceful Eliot in her arms. 

 

When Eliot was two years old, and Evan had worried he needed a strong father figure in his life — Larry had been there. He’d started a tradition of monthly breakfasts with Eliot, the first Saturday of every month spent at their favorite greasy spoon, Eliot entertained by a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, Larry preoccupied with teaching his grandson all the ins and outs of baseball (even when he couldn’t understand). 

 

When Eliot needed to learn how to read, and Evan was doing her best but felt like she just wasn’t a great teacher — Alana had been there. Even in the midst of her rigorous studies at the University of Rochester, she’d taken it upon herself to become Eliot’s personal tutor, swinging by once a week with some new book she felt he needed to add to his collection. It’s thanks to her that, at age six, Eliot’s reading at a fifth-grade level. (His favorite book is currently _The Little Prince_ , Connor’s all-time top pick, and Evan’s heart aches just a little whenever she sees her son reading it — but she never says a word. She doesn’t want to taint the meaning of the book in any way for him.)

When Eliot had gotten sick with the flu at age four, and Evan had had a breakdown in the middle of the night after his fever had spiked — her mom had been there. The second she’d heard her daughter’s tearful voicemail, Heidi Hansen had driven home in the middle of a graveyard shift to help Evan take care of him. 

 

When, shortly after graduating college on Eliot’s fifth birthday, Evan had a job interview scheduled with Ellison State Park, and nobody else could watch him for her — Jared had been there. He and Eliot had spent the day together, stopping at Denny’s for a carb-loaded lunch that would’ve made Heidi cringe, visiting Jared’s favorite video game shop, even hitting up the public library to get Eliot a library card (something Evan had, admittedly, forgotten to do herself). When Evan had picked him up at the end of the day, Jared had actually been reluctant to hand him over, and that was how their little outing became a regular occurrence.

 

And when, at the grand opening of the Connor L. Murphy Memorial Orchard on what would’ve been Connor’s twentieth birthday, Evan felt the pressure building in her chest and the lump growing at the back of her throat — Zoe, of course, had been there. She’d gathered Eliot into her arms, hugged him tight and told Evan to go take a moment to be alone. And Evan had done just that, leaned up against one of the larger apple trees (even if her inner botanist screamed at her for it) and let go, let the tears flow. It was okay to miss Connor sometimes, she’d reminded herself. Even if he was never truly gone. And when she’d come back, face finally dry, Eliot and Zoe were there waiting for her, the both of them giggling at an inside joke she’d never understand — and didn’t need to.

 

And at the end of the day? They’re happy. _She’s_ happy. Is her life now anything like what she’d pictured for herself six years ago? No, absolutely not — but then again, six years ago, Evan hadn’t even thought she’d get to have a future. She hadn’t planned on making it this long.

 

They’re not perfect. Far from it, actually. They all have their bad days. Cynthia will slip up and call Eliot “Connor” sometimes, Larry might yell without realizing it, her mom takes on more shifts than she needs to, Alana can get a little too ambitious, Jared says the wrong thing from time to time, Zoe’s still dealing with her residual anger at Connor, and God knows Evan continues to battle her anxiety.

 

But when you’ve got love like they do, perfection doesn’t seem all that important anymore. And in the end, the way they love each other is all that really matters.

 

“Mommy! I beat Auntie Zoe again!” Eliot’s sweet voice breaks into her thoughts, the bright-eyed little boy running over to leap into his mother’s arms. Evan will never get tired of his hugs, and she cherishes this one just like all the others, squeezing him tight as she runs a hand through his curls. She’s kept her promise to Connor and has let them grow as long as Eliot wants.

 

_Dear Evan Hansen_ , she thinks, holding Eliot close as they both stare up at the vibrant blue sky, _today is going to be a good day, and here’s why: because you’ve got a family. You’ve got Eliot, the Murphys, Jared, Alana, and your mom — and that’s all you need._

 

_Because Connor’s still with you, in some way. Because he’s here now, in the blue of the sky and the scent of the apple trees, in Eliot’s laugh and Zoe’s grin and so much more._

 

_And because you’re loved._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay. where to even start.
> 
> thank you to HamiltonTrash, an awesome friend and amazing writer. you've been so wonderful and supportive and your comments have seriously kept me going, so i can't even begin to thank you enough.
> 
> thank you to everyone who's ever commented, left a kudos, bookmarked, or even read this fic. your support is, at the end of the day, what keeps me writing, and it means more to me than you'll ever know.
> 
> thank you for giving this fic a chance. thank you for seeing beyond the silly tags and crazy concept. thank you for allowing me to make you cry and laugh and everything in between.
> 
> i've loved writing this fic so much. i hope we can all heal and find happiness like evan and her loved ones have.
> 
> and now, on to pure!au. hope to see you there!
> 
> all the love.
> 
> xo,  
> L


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